r  THI::  400 


smcn  OWEN  brown 


Press  of 

Hartzell,  Lord  Co. 

190  La  Salle  Street.  Chicago 


^S'j^^SJB^M 

e  i  f 

The  Tour  of  The  400 

To  Mexico 


By 
GRACE    OWEN    BROWN 


MCMVII 


To 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edmund  Douglass  Brigham 


1  INTRODUCTION 

"In  every  work  regard  the  writer's  end, 

Since  none  can  compass  more  than  they  intend." 

— Pope. 

To  begin  with,  The  Tour  of  the  400  was  a  holiday 
and  not  a  sight-seeing"  trip,  therefore  let  it  not  be  re- 
garded as  "the  writer's  end"  to  attempt  to  compass 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  description  of  Mexico. 
The  writer's  inevitable  "end"  would  be  a  foregone 
conclusion  were  such  her  intention.  Instead  this  lit- 
tle work  is  written  merely  as  a  souvenir  of  their  jour- 

«o  nev  for  the  "400."  and  for  the  possible  entertainment 

o  of  then-  friends. 

The  foundation  of  the  "work"  was  a  diary  hastily 

«  written  en  route  in  a  system  of  shorthand  all  n\\  own, 

csz 
ca 


SO    nearly    undecipherable    as    to    pass    for    Toltecan 
hieroglyphics.      In   my   translation   therefrom   I   have 
^    formulated  ideas  suggested  in  the  original  journal  and 
^   have  filled  out  in   sentences  historical  or  other  facts 
<-3    which  were  briefly   noted,   retaining  as   "local   color" 
many  trivial  incidents  not  in  themselves  worth  remem- 
bering, in  the  hope  that  they  might  suggest  the  environ- 
ments in  which  they  occurred. 

When  I  asked  permission  to  print  real  names,  one 
of  the  "400"  made  the  Byronic  remark : 

'■  'Tis  pleasant,  sure,  to  see  one's  name  in  print," 
refraining  politely  from  adding 

"A  book's  a  book,  although  there's  nothing  in  't." 


27r>7'S9 


THE  TOUR  OF  THE  400 


"Call  it  travel, 
that  thou  takest  for  pleasure." 
— Shakspere. 


RAIN  No.  3, 

C.  ^  N.-W.  Ry. 
February  9.  1906. 


Midnight. 


"  TIS  the  very  witching  hour"  when 
even  church-yards  yawn."  I  am  as 
yawny  as  a  church- yard,  too,  which  is 
certainly  not  promising  for  the  com- 
mencement of  a  story.  But  being  a 
very  systematic  person,  as  all  my  friends  agree,  I 
like  to  begin  always  at  the  beginning  ;  therefore  my 
tales  of  a  traveler  shall  start  to-night,  even  at  the 
risk  of  their  being  as  stupid  reading  as  a  cash  record 
or  cook-book  —  either  of  which  this  new  "manderan- 
dum"  book  (quoting  my  youngest)  may  have  just 
missed  being.  Come  to  think  of  it,  my  account 
books  do  contain  accounts  of  doings  that  resemble 
"  Frenzied  Finance,"  and  I  often  describe  stirring 
incidents  in  my  cook-book — but  to-night  my  muse 
is  too  sleepy  to  be  amusing,  so  only  a  few  intro- 
ductory facts  shall  be  chronicled. 

In  the  first  place,  we  (and  who  "we"  means  will  be 
continued  in  our  next,  that  we  may  be  equal  to  the 
subject)  are  off  for  Mexico — eight  of  us,  all  by  our- 
selves in  a  private  car.  At  this  moment  all  my  lovely 
companions  are  faded  and  gone,  being  snugly  stowed 
away  till  morning,  each  in  his  small  corner  as  I'm  in 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


mine,  mine  being  section  2 — a  cozy  little  unit  in  a 
sort  of  Wernicke  system  of  boudoir,  where  in  my 
present  occupation  I  remind  myself  of  the  aspiring 
poets  who  "painful  vigils  keep,  sleepless  themselves 
to  give  their  readers  sleep." 

But  whatever  may  be  said  of  the  beginning  of  the 
journal,  the  journey  has  begun  well.  The  day  has 
been  very  wintry,  which  is  just  the  proper  condition 
to  leave  for  the  balmy  south,  for  when  one  is  going 
to  a  warm  climate  in  the  middle  of  winter  one  likes 
to  realize  the  contrast.  Then  it  is  always  pleasant 
to  have  one's  departure  regarded  as  of  some  moment, 
and  ours  was  all  that  heart  could  desire.  Arriving 
at  the  station,  we  found  a  delegation  of  leading  citi- 
zens of  Glencoe  assembled  to  see  us  off — in  tears? 
Let  us  hope  the  same  "vast  substantial  smile"  will 
welcome  us  home ! 

But  who  could  feel  sad  on  such  a  night? — a  full 
moon  smiled  down  on  a  white  earth  spread  over  with 
a  thick  frosting,  as  if  it  were  a  great  cake  all  lighted 
up  with  birthday  candles — the  air  was  keen  with  frost 
— the  crisp  snow  crunched  merrily  under  foot!  In- 
deed, it  must  be  confessed  that  it  was  a  lively  party 
that  boarded  the  9:09  train  for  Chicago — for  a  retinue 
escorted  us  to  the  city  to  attend  upon  our  going. 

The  "limited"  was  backed  up  on  track  5,  with  our 
car  at  the  rear  end — just  a  modest  yellow  car,  but 
with  its  windows  radiating  welcome  and  its  lanterns 
flashing  green  and  red,  it  looked  as  attractive  to  our 
fond  imaginations  as  a  golden  chariot  bejewelled  with 
emeralds  and  rubies. 

After  having  carefully  inspected  our  quarters  (with 
thoughtful  concern  for  our  welfare)  the  retinue,  with 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


well-concealed  emotion,  bade  us  a  lingering  farewell. 

For  a  few  moments  everybody  was  quiet — thinking 
possibly  of  the  chances  we  jvere  taking  of  not  remain- 
ing the  same  jolly  good  friends  after  a  month  of  the 
close  association  of  travel. 

But  the  serious  mood  soon  passed  and  when  the 
hands  of  the  old  familiar  clock  pointed  to  eleven,  and 
we  felt  the  train  gliding  out  of  the  station,  such  a 
chorus  of  exclamations,  such  joy  unconfined,  must 
have  made  the  two  colored  men,  who  live  in  a  private 
car  and  travel  all  the  time,  think  we  were  a  lot  of 
way-backs  leaving  our  native  cross-roads  for  the  first 
time.  But  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  that  we  did 
all  get  away,  there  had  been  so  much  doubt  about  some 
of  the  party 

Our  belongings  disposed  of,  there  were  boxes  of 
flowers  to  be  cared  for  and  admired,  and  the  cosy  lit- 
tle sitting  room  in  the  end  of  the  car  was  a  thing  of 
beauty  and  a  picture  of  comfort  when  we  were  finally 
established.  But  the  most  inviting  part  of  it  after 
all  was  the  section  section,  for  we  were  all  very  tired 
after  the  strenuous  day  of  packing  and  preparations. 

So  Oliver  made  up  the  berths  as  soon  as  the  lights 
of  the  city  had  disappeared.  The  two  young  ladies 
retired  to  the  state-room,  then  there  was  a  section 
apiece  for  four,  with  one  left  to  be  "made  up  double." 
At  first  it  looked  as  if  we  should  have  to  search  the 
train  for  some  lady  from  Philadelphia  to  decide  which 
set  of  partners  should  double — it  was  suggested  that 
the  double  section  might  be  appropriated  to  the  use 
of  whichever  couple  needed  a  Caudle  treatment,  but  as 
nobody  would  plead  guilty  of  conjugal  infelicity,  our 
eminent  counsel  advised  that  we  take  turns,  thus 
avoiding  all  hard   feeling.     Judgment  was  confirmed 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


and  our  host  settled  the  matter  of  precedence  by  claim- 
ing the  upper  one-half  of  section  five  as  his  rightful 
property — a  sort  of  berth  right,  as  it  were.  It  hardly 
seemed  proper  to  put  our  host  on  the  shelf  like  that, 
but  what  could  we  do?  Dar'st  we  then  to  beard 
the  Douglass  in  his  own  car?  It  is  the  only  time  any- 
one ever  saw  him  selfish,  so  we  gave  him  his  own  way 
in  sheer  surprise. 

Everybody  seems  to  be  asleep — to  judge  from  sun- 
dry and  divers  toots  that  most  certainly  do  not  ema- 
nate from  the  big  locomotive.  It  is  high  time  for  me, 
too,  so  I  will  turn  out  the  little  electric  light  at  my 
head,  button  the  drapery  of  my  section  together,  and 
sustained  and  soothed  by  an  unfaltering  trust  in  the 
C.  &  N.  W.,  lie  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

En  route.     Iowa. 

February   10. 

'"Hello,  folks!  you  ought  to  see  such  a  morning!" 
This  from  the  healthy-wealthy-and-wise  member 
of  the  family  (who  proves  the  "early  to  rise"  part  of 
the  proverb)  brought  us  from  dreamland  to  behold 
with  surprise  the  hangings  of  a  sleeping-car  berth — 
for  no  sound  or  motion  had  interfered  with  tired  na- 
ture's sweet  restorer.  The  misty  visions  of  the  night 
seemed  to  have  taken  material  form  as  the  lifting  of 
the  little  window  shade  revealed  a  world  no  less  ethe- 
real than  that  from  which  we  had  been  recalled,  as 
it  appeared  through  sunlit  masses  of  vapor  from  the 
engine,  enveloping  the  train  in  a  beautiful  halo. 

When  the  mists  were  rolled  away  the  celestial  world 
proved  to  be  the  same  old  terrestrial  ball — a  cold 
world,  too.      We    were    crossing  la  belle  plaine  of 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


Iowa,  having  come  as  far  as  Belle  Plaine  on  one  of 

those  remarkable  bee-lines  found  on  railroad  maps, 
marking  the  route  from  Chicago  to  Omaha — a  round- 
about route  to  Mexico,  to  be  sure,  but  we  are  making 
a  detour  westward  in  order  to  combine  business  with 
pleasure — and  business  is  Denver-ward. 

Emerging  one  by  one  from  behind  the  scenes,  every- 
body finally  appeared,  more  or  less  finished  as  to  make- 
up, but  all  in  their  right  minds  and  as  fresh  as — well, 
as  ever,  and  ready  to  take  his  or  her  part  in  the  day's 
performance.  And  let  me  say  that  when  this  brilliant 
constellation  of  stars  begins  to  perform  its  shines, 
there  is  likely  to  be  plent>'  of  material  for  a  comedy 
as  full  of  situations  as — oh,  say  a  want-ad  column. 

But  before  we  proceed  with  the  play,  the  players 
in  our  little  company  must  be  "traduced,"  as  the  little 
boy  said.  I  may  be  challenging  libel  suits — but  I'll 
be  careful.  I'll  apologize  beforehand,  and  if  anyone 
feels  like  protesting  "O  Sammy.  Sammy,  vy  worn't 
there  a  alleybi?"  I'll  furnish  one  "nicely  engraved, 
suitable  for  framing"  upon  application — hereby  de- 
claring this  name  to  be  fictitious,  etc. 

In  view  of  any  such  future  complications,  perhaps 
it  will  be  well  to  hereby  declare,  as  a  preliminary  state- 
ment, that  the  caste  of  the  characters  of  the  '"400"  is 
of  general  excellence,  even  though  that  goes  without 
saying.  Theatrically  speaking,  our  troupe  consists 
of  an  All-Star  cast,  which  I  shall  attempt  to  draw  up 
in  proper  form. 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


INTRODUCING: 


Mr.  Edmund  Douglass  Brigham Mine  Host  of  the  400 

(By  courtesy  of  the  C.  &  N.-W.  Ry.  Company.) 
Generally  kno\\Ti  as  the  General  Freight  Agent  of  The  Pioneer  Line. 

Describe  bim  ■who  can, 

An  abridgment  of  all  that  is  pleasant  in  man. 

Whose  heart  is  a  mint 

Though  the  owner  ne'er  knows  half  the  good  that  is  in't. 

Mrs.  Brigham,  as The  Leading  Lady 

(Of  the  Ideal  Stock  Company.) 
In  pleasant  paths  she  leadeth. 
This  dainty  little  Edith. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Newhall,  alias  Ozark  (his  non  cle  baggage)  as 
Jonathan  Spitzenburgh,  alias  Ben  Davis.  .A Northern  Spy 
(Of  the  F.  Newhall  &  Sons  Company.) 
By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them. 

Mrs.  Newhall,  in  her  original  character 

Flora,  Goddess  of  Gardens  and  Orchards 

The  apple  of  his  eye,  though  he  found  her  "where  they  say  only 

peaches  grow." 

(Of  the  Seek-Xo-Further  Variety,) 

Mr.  Paul  Brown A  Limb  o"  the  Law 

"as  has  got  brains  like   the  frogs,   dispersed   all  over  his 

body  and  reachin'  to  the  ^very  tips  of  bis  fingers." 
(Of  the  Horton  ifc  Brown  Association.) 

Mrs.  Brown,  personifying An  Abundance  of  Grace 

O  wad  some  pow'r  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  be  oursel's  as  we'd  have  ithers  see  us. 
(Kind  permission  Buena  Fortune.) 

Fanny  Brigham A  Rosebud 

Marion  Wilmeroth A  Sunbeam 

(First  appearance  in  stellar  r6le.) 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


These  are  the  actors.  The  sequence  of  scenes  will 
doubtless  occur  as  set  forth  in  the  itinerary  which  our 
business  manager  has  arranged.  As  for  the  synopsis 
of  the  plot,  we  forgot  to  bring  a  villain,  so  there 
ain't  goin'  to  be  no  plot. 


Among  our  properties  may  be  mentioned  a  talking 
machine,  which  we  can  wind  up  when  our  own  are 
run  down — with  musical  numbers  rendered  by  Sem- 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


brich,  Eames,  Plangon  or  Caruso,  we  shall  have  opera 
whenever  we  do  so.  These  "red  seal"  stars  are  for 
the  nonce  illuminating  a  vaudeville  stage,  for  they 
appear  as  headliners  on  a  variety  bill.  On  our  first 
program  the  curtain  raiser  was  a  "freak-voice"  bur- 
lesque who  announced  herself  as  The  Only  Star  that 
Twinkles  on  Broadway — "all  the  other  stars  are  only 
shines,"  did  she  say  ?     We'll  see  about  that ! 

And  last  but  not  least  comes  the  kinodrome,  unroll- 
ing a  series  of  moving  pictures  past  the  windows  of 
this  moving  playhouse.  During  intermissions  we  can 
forget  our  own  part  in  the  performance  while  we  idly 
sit  and  let  the  world  go  by. 

What  a  comfortable  feeling  it  is,  to  look  forward 
to  a  long  journey  with  nothing  to  do  but  take  the 
gifts  the  gods  provide  and  look  pleasant.  No  changing 
of  cars  to  make,  no  thought  of  weather,  no  worry  about 
uncertain  reservations,  above  all  no  missing  of  trains ! 
While  conspicuously  missing  will  be  the  selfish  crea- 
tures who,  as  a  porter  once  said,  "done  gits  in  de 
dressin'  room  an'  jis  dies" — the  selfish  creatures  who 
sit  and  eat  and  eat  and  eat  while  you  stand  in  line  and 
starve  by  inches  at  the  very  door  of  the  diner — the 
selfish  creatures  who  claim  perpetual  squatter's  rights 
on  the  observation  platform — to  say  nothing  of  the 
woman  with  the  self-winding  eight-day  voice,  the  man 
with  the  coup  de  pied,  the  cranky  porter,  the  interest- 
ing little  family  of  five  in  the  next  section,  the  poor 
little  tortured  infant  protesting  the  horrors  of  travel 
in  squacking  wrath — dear  me,  and  I've  always  loved 
to  travel,  too ! 

I'm  humming  inwardly  "If  you  ain't  born  lucky, 
don't  get  born  at  all" — if  you  aren't  born  great,  it 
doesn't  matter  so  much ;  you  may  have  greatness  thrust 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


upon  you,  if  you  are  born  lucky — even  the  greatness 
of  belonging  to  the  "400." 

There  may  be  a  flavor  of  sour  grapes  in  the  state- 
ment, but  heretofore  it  has  never  seemed  to  me  a  cause 
of  great  sorrow  not  to  belong  to  the  "400."  Why? 
Noblesse  oblige — to  my  way  of  thinking  the  top  rung 
of  the  ladder,  while  having  some  advantages,  seemed 
anything  but  a  desirable  position,  conspicuous  and  so 
unsteady  one  would  have  to  hold  on  with  his  very 
toes,  like  a  hen  on  a  high  roost.  I  suppose  they  get 
used  to  it,  as  the  hen  does,  but  it  seemed  to  me  it  must 
be  a  terrible  strain. 

But  a  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  views  when 
we  were  invited  to  go  to  Mexico  and  it  was  remarked 
that  if  we  decided  to  go  the  400  would  be  prepared  to 
make  the  trip  enjoyable.  If  to  be  numbered  with  the 
elect  we  need  only  travel,  certainly  we  would  elect  to 
be  numbered,  even  as  the  lowly  convict  or  the  equally 
vicious  automobile.  And  while  the  magic  number  is 
in  our  case  only  the  number  of  the  car,  for  the  time 
being  we  belong  to  the  400  and  are  as  com- 
fortably seated  in  the  lap  of  luxury  as  the  real  top- 
rungers,  any  day. 

U.  P.  Ry.,  Nebraska. 

To  resume  the  travelogue,  there  has  been  nothing 
very  striking  in  scenery  to-day.  As  far  as  Omaha  the 
country  was  all  familiar — Marshalltown,  Missouri 
Valley — that  place  hasn't  changed  a  bit  (though  it  has 
doubtless  changed  many  a  passenger)  since  we 
changed  there  the  last  time  we  went  to  Deadwood. 
It  looks  just  as  dismal. 

The  stock  farms  out  here  remind  me  of  a  snatch  of 
conversation  I  overheard  on  a  former  trip. 


10  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Lady  from  Boston :  "My,  what  lots  of  cattle !  I've 
never  seen  a  ranch  before.  My  brother  has  been  on 
one,  though." 

Stranger:     "That  so?     Where  was  it?" 

She  :     "Near  Sycamore,  Illinois." 

We  crossed  the  Missouri  at  Council  Bluffs  and  ar- 
rived at  Omaha  at  5  :30.  Here  everybody  expected  a 
telegraph  messenger  to  be  "layin'  for  us"  with  a  wire 
for  somebody  to  come  back,  but  no  dreaded  summons 
was  served.  The  train  was  switched  to  the  Union 
Pacific  tracks  and  we  proceeded  upon  the  even  tenor 
of  our  way.  "At  this  writing"  we  are  somewhere  west 
of  Columbus,  the  last  daylight  stop. 

Our  acquaintance  with  the  400  improves  with 
intimacy.  New  and  surprising  features  have  been 
developing  all  day.  We  have  even  inspected  the  little 
closet  they  call  by  courtesy  the  kitchen — a  mere  cubby- 
hole off  the  passageway  into  the  dining  room — a  little 
cell  just  big  enough  for  the  range,  the  cook  and  the 
dish  pan.  It  seems  to  be  really  a  sort  of  a  magician's 
booth,  where  a  juggler  we  call  Frank  conjures  up 
"culinary  triumphs"  by  some  mysterious  sleight  of 
hand,  for  there  is  nothing  around  to  suggest  a  meal, 
past,  present  or  future.  I  might  add  that  the  meals  are 
equally  "out  of  sight"  when  they  are  served.  Visions 
of  my  kitchen  during  the  preparation  of  a  dinner  rise 
before  me.     Shades  of  departed  cooks ! 

It  is  really  a  puzzle  where  the  provisions  and  the 
apparently  unlimited  supply  of  pots  and  pans,  china 
and  silver  and  linen  are  kept,  but  I  give  it  up.  They 
are  supposedly  stowed  away  somewhere,  but  it  is  my 
opinion  that  the  garden,  market,  grocery,  dairy  or  ice- 
house just  appear  when  the  white-capped  Aladdin  calls 
up  the  genie  of  the  lamp.    Wish  I  knew  his  number. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  11 

We've  been  having  a  concert  all  the  evening.  A 
dreamy  flute-and-viola  duet  is  "on"  just  now — "Titl's 
Serenade."  And  I  came  near  writing  it  "Tilt's,"  hav- 
ing had  a  lively  tilt  with  somebody  (he  of  the  various 
aliases),  in  re  the  pronunciation  of  said  name. 


Denver. 

Sunday,  February  H. 

When  we  took  our  bearings  this  morning,  we  were 
traveling  due  south  and  were,  according  to  a  sign- 
board on  the  station  at  Brighton,  nineteen  miles  from 
Denver.  To  my  surprise,  instead  of  the  heaps  and 
heaps  of  mountains  shown  on  the  map  of  Colorado, 
there  was  the  same  flat  countr)'.  Yet  it  was  a  war- 
whoop  about  mountains  from  our  watchful  scout  that 
had  caused  the  uprising  of  the  tribe.  Everybody  was 
gazing  at  the  beautiful  rosy  sky  and  the  purple  clouds 
on  the  eastern  horizon  when  I  joined  them.  "Moun- 
tains?" I  asked.  "Where?"  Someone  said,  "Don't 
you  see  the  humps?"  And  indeed  I  lifted  up  my  eyes 
and  behold,  the  low-hanging  clouds  were  far-off  moun- 
tains. The  red  glow  was  a  reflection  of  Air.  Brown's 
red  tie — at  least  the  glow  disappeared  with  the  tie. 
A  general  demurrer  disposed  of  the  dazzling  cravat. 

Our  men  all  have  a  "begone-dull-care"  spirit  that 
the  begone-dull-color  attitude  of  Mr.  Brown  quite  beau- 
tifully expressed.  They  seem  to  be  all  ears  to  the 
"call  of  the  wild,"  agreeing  that  the  deep  sense  of  un- 
limited expansion,  the  vast  prairies,  the  breadth  of  sky, 
the  floods  of  sunshine,  the  free  out-of-door  life  of  the 
West,  make  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life  seem  but  trivial 
and  useless.    Perhaps  it's  the  rest,  as  well  as  the  West. 


12  The  Tour  of  the  400.     • 

But  I'm  afraid  if  they  were  obliged  to  live  in  one 
of  these  lonely  little  towns  that  struggle  along  the  rail- 
road, they  would  long  for  old  bustling  Chicago.  There 
is  nothing  on  which  to  base  a  choice  of  building  sites 
in  these  little  townlets,  so  they  just  shake  the  little 
houses  out  of  a  dice  box  and  leave  them  wherever  they 
settle.  Beside  each  little  dwelling  a  stack  of  alfalfa, 
vividly  green  amid  its  dull  surroundings,  decorates 
the  landscape  like  an  emerald  rosette  on  the  breast  of 
a  brown-corduroy  Paddy  on  St.  Patrick's  day.  At 
every  door  a  gatmt-looking  well-sweep  proclaims  the 
iron-bound  bucket,  the  only  homey  suggestion  in  the 
picture.  These  awkward,  triangular  sweeps  are  as 
conspicuous  in  all  directions  as  the  windmills  in  Hol- 
land, without  being  as  picturesque. 

Car  400  having  been  duly  side-tracked  in  the 
yards  in  Denver,  w^e  of  the  400,  having  already  donned 
our  Sunday  clothes,  started  up-town  at  once  to  see  the 
hospitable  city  wherein  the  first  thing  a  stranger  sees 
is  "Welcome"  on  a  big  iron  gateway,  as  a  sort  of  door- 
mat greeting.  Almost  as  soon,  we  noticed  a  bulging 
of  the  eyes — altitude  or  the  intense  sunlight  ?  A  Peter- 
kin  discussion  failed  to  settle  the  question. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Newhall  left  us,  to  visit  some  friends. 
The  rest  of  the  party,  and  in  addition  Mr.  James,  of 
Denver  pro  tern.,  and  Edmund  Brigham  Jr.,  who  is  a 
student  at  the  Colorado  School  of  Mines  at  Golden, 
dined  at  a  palace  whose  name  I  am  trying  to  forget,  for 
fear  it  is  a  poor  relation.  After  this  repast,  about 
which  the  least  said  the  better,  we  found  two  automo- 
biles waiting  at  the  door  and  after  the  chauffeurs  had 
sized  us  up  we  were  carefully  assorted  and  packed, 
leaving  an  inch  or  two  of  seat  for  the  Newhalls,  for 
whom  we  called.     Then  after  more  exact  calculations 


Tlie  Tour  of  the  400.  13 

the  party  was  rearranged  to  include  them  and  taken 
for  a  "rubber-neck"  trip  "'seeing  Denver." 

There  was  the  City  Park  and  its  buffalo  herd,  Capi- 
tol Hill  and  the  Capitol,  whose  corner-stone  is  just  one 
mile  above  sea  level ;  the  distant  Rockies ;  the  iMint,  and 
other  public  buildings  and  many  fine  residences  to  be 
seen,  and  we  were  glad  we  had  not  exhausted  our 
enthusiasm  on  dinner,  for  we  had  good  use  for  it. 
Denver  is  a  beautiful  city  and  has  much  to  boast  of 
besides  her  "304  sunny  days  in  the  year." 

Our  guests  accompanied  us  back  to  the  car  for  tea, 
some  other  friends  have  called  and  we  are  glad  to 
spend  the  night  in  our  own  comfortable  "palace"  rather 
than  stay  up-town. 

The  Antlers,  Colorado  Springs. 
February  12-13  (bctzvixt  and  between). 

Our  two  busy  B's,  leaving  their  honey  B's,  went  buz- 
zing around  Denver  all  day  improving  the  shining 
hours  stirring  up  drones — or  maybe  hornets'  nests. 
Question:    Was  anyone  stung? 

Mr.  N.,  having  no  business  to  mind,  was  appointed 
Squire  of  Dames  (by  the  dames)  and  gallantly  under- 
took the  task  of  amusing  us,  but  no  sooner  had  we  left 
the  soda-fountain  than  we  saw  the  prettiest  little 
"parlor"  that  ever  you  did  spy,  and  in  we  walked  like 
the  foolish  fly,  leaving  our  squire  accompanied  only  by 
noble  thoughts.  But  really  we  did  feel  as  the  mos- 
quito did  about  its  victim,  that  we  were  boring  him 
terribly ;  so  it  was  best  to  leave  him  thus — best  for  him 
and  best  for  us,  for  he  enjoyed  a  siesta  in  Mr.  James' 
suite  in  the  Palace,  while  we  enjoyed  a  sip  at  the  foun- 
tain of  youth.  Talk  about  nature  wonders — three 
Aphrodites    fluttered   out    where    three    fuzzy-looking 


14  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

creatures  had  gone  in.  How  doth  the  Httle  busy 
vibrator  improve  the  shining  face  ! 

To  drop  this  entomological  phraseology  and  speak- 
in  the  language  of  the  wild  and  woolly  West, 
the  bunch  rounded  up  at  feedin'  time  and  you  shore 
would  a-thought  them  men  was  just  plumb  locoed 
when  they  saw  us  wimmen-folks  a-comin'  along  the 
trail,  with  our  blow-away  hair  an'  so  peachy  com- 
plected an'  all — I  'low  we  made  a  hit,  shore  'nuf. 

I  devoured  a  Victor  catalogue  while  the  others 
minced  some  other  matters  equally  as  satisfying  to 
hunger  (Frank  has  us  spoiled,  you  see),  and  then  the 
party  separated  again,  Sir.  and  Mrs.  Brigham  going 
out  to  Golden.  Fanny  and  Marion  did  some  very 
mysterious  shopping,  Mrs.  Newhall  and  I  attended  a 
rehearsal  of  brass  bands  and  operatic  tenors,  and  the 
men  disappeared. 

Mr.  Brigham  Jr.,  dined  with  us  in  the  car,  and 
later  Mr.  James  came,  to  go  on  with  the  men  to  Hart- 
zel.  A  platform  promenade,  moony  and  spoony,  is  the 
last  I  remember  of  Denver ;  and  w^e  left  that  interest- 
ing city  at  9:30. 

Mr.  James,  who  is  a  brilliant  story-teller,  kept  the 
party  highly  entertained  during  the  evening  and  we 
reached  Colorado  Springs  at  12:30.  Here  we  ladies 
have  stopped  in  search  of  adventures,  while  the  men 
go  on  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  the  Colorado  Eldorado. 

Our  adventures  have  proved  neither  thrilling  nor  ro- 
mantic so  far.  Finding  ourselves  alone  and  unpro- 
tected on  a  darksome  night  in  a  strange  place,  we 
naturally  expected  somebody  to  rob  us  or  kidnap  us  or 
frighten  us  or  fall  in  love  with  us,  but  nobody  did. 
Instead,  our  arrival  having  been  wired  ahead,  the  hotel 
'bus  was  waiting  for  us,  and  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Brigham 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  15 

conld  register  we  were  shown  to  four  rooms,  joined 
by  baths — and  methinks  I'm  the  last  one  up. 

The  Antlers. 
February  13. 

The  windows  of  ''178"  overlook  a  park  and  beyond 
it  the  Rockies,  with  Pike's  Peak  just  distinguishable 
in  the  morning  mists.  It  was  a  fine  view  upon  which 
I  rolled  my  curtain,  and,  failing  our  Morning  Call,  I 
must  be  the  one  to  wake  the  family  up  to  admire  it. 

For  a  "lone,  lorn"  lot  of  females  we  have  managed  to 
spend  our  day  alone  in  Colorado  Springs  very  pleas- 
antly, though  to  be  sure  we  spent  it  elsewhere — to  be  a 
little  Irish.  All  the  warm  wraps  were  brought  out 
from  the  trunks  and  after  bundling  up  as  if  for  an 
expedition  to  the  North  Pole  we  climbed  into  a  three- 
seated  surrey  and  started  off  for  a  twenty-five-mile 
drive. 

And  the  first  discovery  was  a  pole  as  remarkable  as 
the  long-sought  Arctic  affair — it  was  14,147  feet  high 
— exactly  the  height  of  Pike's  Peak.  I  finally  man- 
aged to  get  a  picture  of  Pike's  without  the  unpic- 
turesque  and  intrusive  telephone  line,  and  then  we 
drove  to  Manitou  and  from  there  on  took  the  "Temple 
Drive"  road  through  Williams  Cafion. 

This  is  a  great  deep  crack  in  the  earth's  crust,  and 
the  road  follows  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  between 
towering  walls  of  a  beautiful  yellow-brown  rock. 
Great  threatening  tons  of  it,  half  detached  from  the 
ragged  clififs  four  or  five  hundred  feet  above,  hang 
seemingly  just  ready  to  come  crashing  down.  One 
place,  called  "The  Narrows,"  is  a  fissure  barely  wide 
enough   for  a   passage,    which    seemed   to   have   just 


16  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

split  open,  so  perfectly  would  the  opposite  sides  fit 
together  if  it  should  close  again.  It  gave  me  the 
feeling  of  being  a  nut  in  a  nut-cracker — but  grand! 
It  just  made  you  want  to  expand  and  shout  and  be 
something   big ! 

After  a  mile  of  this  wild  grandeur  we  climbed  a 
narrow  road  that  has  been  blasted  out  of  the  rock, 
overlooking  deep  chasms,  where  one  grows  dizzy  to 
look,  with  the  wheels  so  perilously  near  the  edge, 
finally  reaching  a  high  point  where  the  mountain 
opens  its  mouth  wide  to  inhale  the  ozone.  Here  we 
alighted  and  were  urgently  invited  to  enter  the  Cave 
of  the  Winds — only  a  dollar,  including  guide.  I  was 
so  charmed  with  the  scenery  that  I  felt  that  under- 
ground explorations  would  be  a  waste  of  time — be- 
sides I  remembered  the  Mammoth  Cave  and  its  after 
effects.  Anyway,  there  was  a  grouchy  expression 
about  the  mouth  of  this  cave  that  was  forbidding,  and 
since  Mrs.  Brigham  felt  the  same  lack  of  inclina- 
tion for  subterranean  research,  we  enjoyed  the  views 
while  Mrs.  Newhall  and  the  girls  followed  the  guide 
on  "an  elfin  ramble,"  as  the  advertising  leaflet  put  it. 

An  ornery-looking  old  fossil  was  that  elfin  guide, 
but  he  Avas  in  fact  a  geological  librar\'  incog.  And 
there  seemed  to  be  something  in  the  atmosphere  of 
that  cave  that  crystallized  his  words  as  they  fell  from 
his  lips,  like  those  of  the  good  little  girl  who  uttered 
diamonds  and  rubies,  for  those  ladies  had  gathered 
up  so  many  gems  of  wisdom  that  they  fairly  sparkled 
when  they  came  out.  They  had  brought  a  handful  of 
petrified  fingers  that  grow  upon  the  walls  as  thick  as 
quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine.  These  fingers  were 
already  amputated — there  being  a  stringent  law  which 
forbids  even  "accidents." 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  17 

But  whatever  may  have  been  the  phenomenal  beau- 
ties of  stalactite  and  stalgamite,  "flowering  alabaster" 
and  bridal  chamber,  the  views  from  "Observation 
Point"  were  compensation.  Mountains  stretched  away 
in  every  direction,  rolling  in  huge  billows  till  they  were 
lost  in  the  distance — a  dreamy  ocean  of  soft  colors  all 
washed  together  into  purple  as  they  blended  into  the 
blue  sky.  Down  below  great  rocks  lay  in  masses, 
and  like  a  path  up  the  hillsides  came  the  winding  road 
by  which  we  had  ascended,  lost  now  and  then  amongst 
the  clumps  of  evergreens  or  behind  a  point  of  rock. 

We  followed  the  same  road  back  to  Manitou,  then 
after  a  cup  of  tea  "to  warm  us  up"  we  drove  in  an- 
other direction   to  the   famous   Garden  of  the   Gods. 

And  here  Nature  steps  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous,  revealing  in  her  "visible  forms"  an  eccen- 
tricity that  is  as  surprising  as  her  nobler  phases  are 
inspiring.  Standing  up  on  end  and  rising  out  of  a 
soft  soil  are  curious  rock  formations  that  resemble  all 
sorts  of  familiar  objects — Siamese  Twins,  Punch  and 
Judy,  a  Major  Domo,  the  great  Balanced  Rock.  A 
patch  of  great  stone  mushrooms  is  in  this  strange 
garden,  and  there  are  all  sorts  of  distorted  animals. 
Most  of  these  formations  are  of  a  red  stone  which 
when  reproduced  on  post  cards  seems  much  too 
bright.  Others  are  of  a  gray  stone — they  occur  hit 
or  miss,  red  or  gray,  just  as  they  happened  to  be  up- 
heaved when  Mother  Earth,  being  "took  with  fits," 
was  in  the  throes  of  a  terrible  convulsion.  It  is  cer- 
tainly a  "geological  miracle,"  even  to  an  ignoramus 
like  me. 

Arovuid  the  top  of  one  of  these  oddly  shaped  rocks 
an  enterprising  photographer  has  built  a  railing,  thus 
producing  a  steamboat,  and  during  the  season  he  sells 


18  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

excursion  rates  to  people  who  like  to  show  their 
friends  how  they  look  compared  to  other  natural  won- 
ders. I  can't  say  anythin^^ — I've  sat !  One  freak  of 
nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin.  My  first  and  last 
sitting-  was  on  the  back  of  an  Arkansas  burro — the 
ugliest  in  Happy  Hollow.  But  I  ca)i  say  this  for  my- 
self, that  the  photograph  was  taken  under  duress,  both 
on  m\'  part  and  on  that  of  the  equally  stubborn  and 
rebellious  party  of  the  second  part. 

There  are  great  temples  in  this  realm  of  the  gods  and 
some  of  the  masses  of  rocks  look  like  old  ruined  ca- 
thedrals. Others  form  giant  gates,  and  through  these 
we  made  our  exit  from  the  garden  and  found  our- 
selves on  an  open  road,  a  sharp  wind  blowing  and 
snow  flying.  We  bundled  up  tight,  bowed  our  heads 
to  the  biting  sand  that  flew  up  from  the  wheels  and 
were  glad  to  finish  the  trip  with   all  possible   speed. 


Those  three  men  of  ours  looked  pretty  good  to  us 
when  they  came  to-night — and  we  looked  pretty  nice, 
too,  all  in  our  best  bibs  and  tuckers.  We  spent  the 
evening  around  the  big  fireplace  in  the  lobby,  ex- 
changing experiences.  The  men  had  a  rough  trip 
over  an  indescribably  tortuous  railroad,  a  long,  cold 
drive  across  country  after  it,  for  which  Mr.  James 
furnished  (intentionally  or  otherwise)  leggings,  muf- 
flers, caps  and  mittens,  he  meanwhile  keeping  warm  on 
enthusiasm.  They  lost  their  way  and  all  sorts  of  mis- 
haps befell  them,  repeated  on  the  return  trip — the  car 
fairly  turned  somersaults.  To  hear  about  it,  we  won- 
dered that  it  was  not  reduced  to  kindling  and  our  liege 
lords  to  saints  and  martyrs.     As  to  the  "prospect?*'  in 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  19 


South  Park,  the  conversation  fell  on  uncomprehending 
ears,  in  my  case.  But  I  should  epitomize  it  by  saying 
that  full  many  a  shaft  at  random  sunk  finds  ore  the 
miner  little — thunk.  That  sounds  very  much  like 
Rhymo  the  ]\Ionk. 

A\'e  are  all  agreed  that  a  prolonged  sojourn  at  The 
Antlers  will  be  one  of  the  good  times  coming  when 
our  ships  come  in.  Colorado  Springs,  wdth  its  fine 
climate  and  scenery,  is  an  ideal  place  to  live ;  one  al- 
most feels  like  adding,  an  ideal  place  to  die,  for  many 
are  the  grewsome  reminders  of  the  reason  for  the  long- 
rows  of  cottages  "for  rent,"  for  the  startling  fre- 
quency of  doctors'  and  nurses'  signs  in  so  healthy  a 
place,  for  the  furnished  rooms  and  board  waiting  the 
invalid — all  telling  how  largely  the  population  is  made 
up  of  valetudinarians — "lungers,"  most  of  them  are, 
to  use  the  local  expression. 

En  route. 
February  14. 

A  leisurely  breakfast  at  The  Antlers,  a  go-as-you- 
please  forenoon,  mostly  devoted  to  repacking  for  a 
warmer  clime,  and  the  "400"  reassembled  on  the  car 
at  one  o'clock.  !\Iiss  Agnes  Newhall  was  a  guest  for 
luncheon,  and  we  left  Colorado  Springs  at  2  :30. 

Some  thoughtful  soul  had  replenished  the  sweets, 
bought  a  fresh  supply  of  flowers  and  blooming  plants, 
and  we  were  as  comfortable  and  happy  as  the  prover- 
bial dwellers  in  rugs  when  we  settled  down  for  the 
first  850-mile  stretch  of  the  long  run  to  Mexico  City, 
where  we  go  "direct."  with  only  such  stops  as  are 
incidental  to  the  trip. 

We  are  traveling  via  the  Hogarth  Line — so  I  call 
it.      One   would    not   think   that    a    railroad   across   a 


20  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

perfectly  flat  country  (for  \vc  left  the  mountams 
almost  at  once)  need  describe  all  the  scallops  and  cir- 
cles and  horseshoes  and  spirals  and  curlicues  and  other 
snakentine  wig:gle-wa,c:glcs  that  the  dictionary  does — 
curves  parabolical,  h}  i^erbolical,  diabolical !  And  the 
wav  the  train  scoots  along  looping  these  fearful  and 
wonderful  loops !  Being  on  the  end  of  the  train,  it's 
like  playing  crack-the-whip — you  wonder  when  you'll 
fly  loose.  The  speedometer  is  soaring  around  no  in 
the  shade  and  the  ends  of  the  rails  mark  the  time  like 
bars  in  music.  "Lippity-clip,  clippity-lip"  they  sing, 
as  Uncle  Remus  describes  the  wild  ride  of  Brer  Rabbit 
on  the  back  of  Brer  Fox.  It  occurred  to  me  that  per- 
haps the  rails  made  the  name  of  the  railroad  company 
in  autograph,  scrawling  across  the  country,  but  Mr. 
Brigham  says  all  these  sinusoidal  maneuvers  are  on 
account  of  grades,  this  section  of  country  being  an  in- 
clined plane — or  plain,  in  this  case. 

Then  he  suddenly  exclaimed:  'Those  are  bents'' — 
imagine  my  astonishment  at  hearing  slang  from 
him.  He  referred  to  the  buttes,  of  course — ash- 
dumps,  they  looked  like.  And  finding  we  really  did 
seem  to  stay  on  the  track  of  this  "scenic"  railway  I 
began  to  notice  the  scenery.  The  country  was  getting 
to  look  like  the  familiar  Remington  drawings  and 
Owen  Wister  descriptions — gray,  sun-parched  earth, 
stunted  trees  trying  to  grow  beside  the  dry  streams. 
Half-tone  pictures  they  were,  with  absolutely  no  color 
except  the  blue  sky. 

But  what  had  been  lacking  in  the  way  of  color  was 
put  into  one  "grand  pyrotechnic  display"  as  the  sun 
finally  went  down,  leaving  a  sunset  splendor  in  the 
heavens  that  certainly  "declared  the  glory  of  God." 
Trulv   "the  firmament   showeth   His   handiwork.""     A 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  21 

palette  of  such  colors  was  never  seen — violet  and  rose 
and  yellow,  dashes  of  silver  and  gold,  and  one  long- 
streak  of  carmine  was  put  on  with  a  final  bold  stroke 
of  the  brush,  as  if  the  artist  realized  that  he  could  not 
overdo  the  brilliance  and  might  as  well  daub  on  the 
color^ — in  "squirts,"  as  Holmes  says  of  Turner  sun- 
shine. 

When  the  gorgeous  colors  had  faded  and  we 
turned  from  the  darkening  landscape  at  the  summons 
to  dinner,  a  surprise  was  waiting.  The  table  was 
decorated  most  artistically  with  red  hearts — sure 
enough,  St.  Valentine's  day ;  so  that  is  why  the  girls 
have  been  so  sly  all  day — and  the  mysterious  shopping 
in  Denver  is  explained.  There  was  a  Jack  Horner 
pie  full  of  valentines,  good  and  bad  (mostly  very, 
very  bad),  surrounded  by  all  the  other  red  dishes 
Frank  could  think  of,  from  beets  to  jelly ;  even  the 
last  of  Marion's  American  Beauties  floated  in  the 
finger  bowls.  It  was  a  very  swell  function — quite  a 
Ladies'  Home  Journal  affair. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  usually  a  model 
of  dignity,  and  Mrs.  Newhall,  who  can  be,  executed 
a  fandango  while  the  Victor  played  "Feather  Queen." 
As  for  Mr.  B.,  we  must  remember  that  he  is  a  scion 
of  "old  father  Antic,  the  law,"  so  he  is  excusable  for 
his  antics.  As  for  Mrs.  N. — well,  if  Hammerstein 
"gets  next"  and  discovers  her  some  night,  she'll  sure- 
ly be  "a  Broadway  star,  all  right." 


Fort  Worth,  Texas. 
February  15,  6  p.  m. 

To-day  we  have  crossed  half  of  Texas  diagonally, 
from  Childress  to  this  terminal,  where  I  take  advan- 


22  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

tage  of  a  stop  to  write  up.  \A'e  have  been  flying 
along  too  fast  to  write  while  on  the  wing. 

We  were  in  the  land  of  cotton  by  morning — end- 
less acres  of  plantations  stretching  away,  a  great 
ragged  carpet,  its  background  the  red  soil  of  Dixie. 
At  the  stations  darkies  lounged  on  the  cotton  bales 
that  spread  out  everywhere,  overflowing  the  platforms. 

Then  there  were  miles  of  barren  lands,  inhabited 
only  by  prairie-dogs,  who  seemed  to  have  preempted 
large  tracts  under  some  kind  of  homestead  law  and 
settled  in  colonies.  Then  followed  good  grazing  covm- 
try — a  streak  o'  fat  land  and  a  streak  o"  lean,  like  the 
kind  of  salt  pork  the  old  lady  liked. 

The  people  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do,  congregat- 
ing at  the  station  in  the  infrequent  little  towns — if  a 
shed,  a  shanty,  a  cottage,  a  barn  and  the  depot  may 
be  called  a  "town" — let  me  not  forget  the  water  tank, 
the  line  of  freight  cars,  the  line  of  telegraph  poles 
and  the  line  of  clothes. 

The  groups  of  idlers  are  typically  southern — though 
a  cowboy  with  his  lariat  and  spurs  gives  a  little  west- 
ern touch.  The  women  are  all  in  sun  bonnets  and 
calico,  black  mammies  and  white  dressed  just  alike. 
We  play  southern  airs  when  the  train  stops  and  enjoy 
their  surprise  and  curiosity.  Xot  often  does  the 
"heavenly  maid"  visit  this  part  of  the  world. 

There  is  one  tune  we  always  set  going  just  as  we 
pull  out — "Bye-bye.  bye-bye  ma  Eva — bye-bye,  I's 
gwine  to  leave  yuh."  All  the  Evas  wave  to  the  un- 
seen "coon"  singing  in  the  yellow  car. 

Tinges  of  green  begin  to  show  in  the  newly-planted 
fields  and  the  thermometer  is  playing  the  ascending 
chromatic  scale.  It  is  not  warm  enough  to  make 
sunbonnets  indispensable  yet — cloudy  too. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  23 

I  am  wondering  if  this  is  not  the  railroad  about 
which  the  story  is  told  that  when  one  of  the  passen- 
gers, noticing  that  the  train  was  running  smoothl}', 
after  a  very  rough  trip,  asked  the  conductor  why  that 
was.  "\\^e're  ofif  the  track  now,"  was  the  explanation. 
Seeing  a  big  locomotive  lying  bottom  up  in  the  ditch 
to-day  made  us  hope  our  engineer  would  slow  up  be- 
fore we  were  "ofif  the  track,"  but  he  went  faster  if 
anything;  and  still  we  reached  Fort  Worth  too  late 
for  the  train  with  which  the  400  was  to  connect, 
so  we  have  to  wait  here  three  hours  for  another. 

Some  mail  was  brought  to  the  car  upon  our  ar- 
rival, and  everybody  is  writing  letters.  Amongst  ours 
was  one  from  the  "prep,  school"  lad,  mostly  Greek  to 
me — all  about  the  O.  K.  Pies  and  the  Fli  Ski  Highs — 
closing  with  some  words  of  appreciation  of  our  "un- 
remitting kindness"'  and  enclosing  the  month's  report, 
bearing:  a  star ! 


We  walked  up-town  this  evening,  but  not  far.  A 
rough-looking  lot  of  tipsy  "cow  punchers,'"  all  armed 
to  the  teeth,  had  full  possession  of  the  streets — saloons 
galore  and  the  Salvation  Army  holding  forth  on  the 
corners.     Let  us  hope  they  make  many  converts. 

After  starting  on  again  two  of  the  troupe  (I  name 
no  parties)  gave  a  Punch-and-Judy  show.  It  was  a 
benefit  performance,  for  the  benefit  of  Judy,  who 
really  had  to  be  punched,  she  was  getting  so  effer- 
vescent. Somebody  remarked  that  if  she  got  what 
she  deserved  she"d  be  "canned,  in  other  words  pre- 
served." She  really  is  behaving  beautifully  now — but 
she's  only  bottled,  in  other  words  fermenting. 


24  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

State  of  Neuvo  Leon,  Mexico. 

Pebruary  IG,  .9  p,  tn. 

Mexico  at  last,  though  still  my  song  shall  be  "My 
country,  'tis  of  thee,"  for  we  have  had  a  night  and  an- 
other whole  day  in  Texas.  What  a  big  state  it  is ! 
Just  think,  France  could  come  over  to  visit  Texas  and 
bring  with  her  little  Denmark  and  the  Netherlands 
and  have  Switzerland  come  along  to  take  care  of  them. 
Even  then,  Texas  could  ask  Massachusetts  to  come 
and  help  entertain,  and  Connecticut  and  little  Rhody 
could  come  too  to  entertain  the  little  foreigners,  and 
still  with  this  house-party  Texas  would  have  a  spare 
room  of  over  fifteen  hundred  square  miles  unoccupied. 
I  found  some  statistics  and  a  pencil  and  figured  this 
out. 

At  San  Antonio  we  learned  the  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing that  the  train  we  didn't  catch  last  night  had  landed 
in  the  ditch,  after  getting  too  frisky  on  sharp  curves 
and  light  rails.  Moral,  or  as  Buster  Brown  would 
say,  "Resolved:" 

That  it  is  sometimes  a  good  thing  to  miss  a 

TRAIN.  If  you  are  well  AND  HAVE  A  GOOD  DISPOSI- 
TION   YOU    CAN     ENJOY    ANYTHING,    EVEN     MISSING    A 

TRAIN.     Circumstantial  evidence  shows  that  by 

MISSING  A  TRAIN  PEOPLE  HAVE  OFTEN  MISSED  SOME- 
THING WORSE.  You're  in  a  bad  fix  if  you  are  part 
OF  A  "horrible  disaster."     It  is  better  to  laugh 

THAN  BE  SIGHING,  SO  WHEN  AW^\Y  THE  TRAIN  GOES 
FLYING  CHEER  UP  AND  SMILE.  It  HAS  MADE  SOME 
men's  FORTUNES,  THAT  PLEASANT  SMILE  HAS. 

The  scenery  and  the  climate  have  been  growing 
more  and  more  tropical  all  da}'.  Trees  bearded  with 
the  funereal  Spanish  moss,  bunches  of  green  mistle- 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


25 


toe  among  the  dead-looking  branches,  the  Spanish  bay- 
onet and  long  stretches  of  "pear"  thickets,  all  become 
more  common  with  every  hour's  progress. 

We  have  spent  the  most  of  the  day  on  the  front 
porch  (as  we  call  the  rear  platform),  camped  out  on 
stools,  without  wraps.  Negroes  grew  beautifully  less 
and  greasers  more 
numerous  as  we 
reached  the  border 
lands.  While  stop- 
ping for  the  train- 
load  to  lunch  at 
Choculla,  one  of 
Uncle  Sam's  furth- 
ermost towns, 
Fanny  and  I  took 
pictures  of  some 
cunning  little  half- 
breed  children. 
They  all  say  "show 
me  first  your 
penny" — in  Span- 
ish. The  more 
penny  the  more 
smile. 

We  have  left  a  trail  of  music  behind  us  as  we  have 
gone  marching  through  Texas.  A  picture  of  the  car 
taken  at  any  point  on  the  day's  run  would  show  a 
blur  of  notes  and  clefs,  sharps  and  flats,  streaming 
out  behind  like  the  clouds  of  vapor  and  veils  follow- 
ing a  motor  car.  But  oh !  such  a  sorrow — we  can't 
have  "Titl's  Serenade"  any  more.  Mr.  Brigham  has 
put  his  foot  down  on  it— now  we're  sorry  we  left  it 
on  the  floor.  It  was  that  pretty  duet  I've  men- 
tioned ;   now   it   is   two   separate   pieces. 


26  TJic  Tour  of  the  400. 

A  freight  wreck  ahead  caused  a  delay  this  after- 
noon— the  third  wreck  in  twenty-four  hours.  No- 
body can  say  these  railroads  are  wreckless,  how- 
ever it  may  appear.  But  instead  of  growing  nervous, 
I  begin  to  feel  that  a  guardian  angel  is  protecting  the 
"400." 

That  last  remark  was  made  in  all  good  faith  and 
seriousness,  yet  I  can't  resist  a  story  a  propos.  A 
minister  in  a  little  Nebraska  town  went  to  call  upon 
a  Swede  who  had  lately  "settled  in  their  midst" — 
having  in  fact  been  transported  from  Kansas  on  the 
wings  of  an  unusually  careful  cyclone,  which  had  left 
him  with  his  family  and  other  chattels  "without  a 
scratch."  Upon  congratulating  Ole  on  his  miracu- 
lous delivery  the  parson  said,  "Surely,  the  Lord  was 
with  you."  Said  the  Swede,  "Ay  tank  he  bane  going 
some." 

Laredo,  on  the  Rio  Grande,  was  reached  at  six  this 
evening,  with  still  enough  sun  for  a  photograph  of 
the  river  and  the  long  bridge,  in  the  center  of  which 
a  white  stone  post  marks  the  boundary  between  the 
realms  of  Uncle   Sam  and  the   realms  of   Mr.   Diaz. 

At  Nuevo  Laredo,  on  the  Mexican  side,  customs 
officers  boarded  the  train.  Appearing  suddenly  in  the 
dusk  of  the  car,  they  looked  so  like  a  band  of  pirates 
that  we  frightened  women  almost  screamed  in  their 
swarthy  faces.  Our  men  had  gone  out  to  open  the 
trunks  for  inspection.  We  collected  our  features  and 
adjusted  our  expressions  hastily  and  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing them  that  we  were  not  smugglers,  though  the}' 
did  not  understand  English.  We  felt  much  relieved 
when  they  left  without  cutting  our  throats. 

The  girls  had  their  first  lesson  in  Spanish  from 
some   nice-looking    Mexican   bovs   of   their   own    age 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  27 

who  came  up  on  the  car  steps  and  pronounced  the 
words  in  the  back  of  the  guide-book,  while  the  train 
was  waiting  in  Nuevo  Laredo.  The  boys  seemed  to 
be  as  much  interested  in  the  American  Beauties  as  the 
girls  were  in  Espagnol,  and  the  "adios"  were  very 
friendly  on  both  sides  when  the  train  started  on. 

Mrs.  Newhall's  trunk  failed  to  appear  in  the  Custom 
House  and  upon  investigation  it  was  found  that  nobody 
had  a  check  for  it — there  was  some  mistake  in  Col- 
orado Springs.  Of  course  there  is  nothing  in  it  she 
wants,  anyway,  so  she  says !  Not  even  the  spandy  new 
suit  that  was  just  finished  in  time.  Like  the  immortal 
Toddie,  she  is  really  glad  not  to  be  "boddered  wif 
lots  of  fings."  Well,  some  people  want  but  little  here 
below,  but  for  my  part  I  want  that  little  along  when  I 
travel. 

It  Vv^as  dark  by  the  time  we  were  well  on  our  way 
again.  We  have  had  a  quiet  evening  with  books,  and 
are  retiring  early — my  book  being  these  memoirs. 

Fortunately,  Mr.  Newhall  brought  a  trunk  of  his 
own. 

State  of  San  Luis  Potosi,  Mexico. 

February  17.     Noon. 

Last  night  we  traveled  many  miles  over  the  old  In- 
dian trail  that  now  forms  the  route  of  the  Mexican 
National  Railway — the  historic  highroad  over  which 
our  American  troops  passed  on  their  invasion  of 
Mexico. 

We  had  passed  through  the  valleys  of  Monterey  and 
of  San  Juan  and  had  reached  a  barren  table-land  by 
morning,  and  when  we  were  wakened  by  our  official 
scene-shifter  there  had  been  a  great  changing  of  scen- 
ery over  night. 


28  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Rolling  up  the  little  curtain  of  my  window  and 
peeping  out  to  see  the  fine  views  he  was  begging  us 
to  behold,  there  was  indeed  a  strange  sight.  The  train 
was  steadily  climbing  a  steep  grade,  already  being  near 
the  top  of  the  mountains,  whose  summits  were  lost  in 
the  soft,  white  heaps  of  fleecy  clouds  with  which  they 
seemed  to  be  playing  pillow-fight  for  a  morning  frolic. 
The  slopes  were  covered  with  i)alm  trees  that  reminded 
me  of  huge  pineapple  tops  mounted  on  tall  posts.  Some 
were  single,  some  double  headed — some  had  arms  up- 
lifted— some  were  straight,  others  bent  as  if  with  age 
and  all  had  wild,  spiky  locks  bristling  on  their  heads. 
They  kept  appearing,  like  Rip  \"an  Winkle's  mountain 
goblins,  each  more  weird  and  fantastic  than  the  last, 
seeming  to  stare  at  the  train,  point  at  it  and  bow  in 
the  most  uncanny  way.  I  wondered  if  last  night's 
sleep  was  really  twenty  years  of  oblivion,  for  it  was 
a  vastly  different  world  from  that  of  yesterday. 

Eager  for  pictures,  I  dressed  as  fast  as  possible, 
but  the  sun  was  hidden  behind  the  clouds  I  had  been 
admiring  on  the  mountain  tops. 

There  was  a  chill  in  the  early  morning  air  and  the 
groups  of  Mexicans  who  were  out  early  repairing  the 
tracks,  though  wrapped  in  their  warm,  bright-colored 
blankets,  looked  very  shivery  as  to  legs,  having  only 
loose  white  cotton  trousers  and  sandalled  feet.  And 
their  big  sombreros   suggested  intense  heat. 

By  the  time  the  sun  was  bright  enough  for  pictures 
we  had  rolled  down  a  long  grade  and  the  mountains 
and  "goblin"  palms  were  left  behind — without  one 
snap. 

But  there  were  plenty  of  pictures  waiting,  for  all 
along  the  route,  wherever  we  stopped  at  the  little 
pueblos,  the  entire  population  was  waiting  at  the  sta- 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


29 


tion  to  see  the  only  event  of  their  lives,  the  arrival 
of  the  train — the  incoming  of  their  chief  incomes,  I 
might  have  said,  for  they  are  all  beggars ;  and  no 
sooner  does  the  train  stop  than  every  palm  in  this  land 
of  palms  is  outstretched  for  "centavo,  centavo,"  which 
they  ask  por  amor  de  Dios. 


I  said  they  were  all  at  the  station — at  least  those 
that  were  not  waiting  would  be  there  directly,  for  they 
came  running  from  the  little  cluster  of  adobe  huts  half 


30 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


a  mile  distant  in  droves,  old  and  young,  "some  in  rags 
and  some  in  tags,"  like  the  beggars  in  the  nursery 
rhyme.  Still  they  come,  pouring  out  like  the  emptying 
of  an  ant-hill,  aunts  and  uncles  and  cousins,  "reckoned 
up  by  dozens."  Where  do  they  all  sleep,  for  pity's 
sake?    The  little  cubic  adobe  huts  are  like  bake-ovens 


of  clay,  yet  they  seem  to  afford  accommodation  for 
multitudes.  Some  of  the  family  must  be  hung  uj)— 
some  of  them  look  as  if  they  ought  to  be ! — but  I 
meant  in  hamacos. 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


31 


And  the  costumes !  When  his  apparel  can  be  called 
other  than  just  rags,  the  male  Mexican's  garb  is  a 
combination  of  white  "ducks,"  a  nonedscript  sort  of 


outing  shirt,  a  couple  (not  necessarily  a  pair)  of  san- 
dals, a  big  sombrero  of  straw  or  felt,  and  always  the 
bright  striped  carapc— the  Mexican  mantle  of  charity. 
These  last  are  a  continual  temptation  to  me,  dirty  as 
they  are.     In  fact  the  most  soiled  are  usually  the  most 


32 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


beautiful,  for  the  colors  soften  like  those  of  antique 
rugs.  These  blankets  the  humble  peon  wears  with  the 
grace  of  a  cavalier  in  a  cloak,  a  fringed  end  thrown  over 
the  left  shoulder.  Some  blankets  (called  ponchos)  are 
woven  with  a  slit  in  the  middle  for  the  head ;  these 
are  often  worn  under  a  zarape. 

In  these  garments  they  seem  to  live  and  move  and 
have  their  being  continuously,  day  and  night.  Per- 
haps there  is  a  time  when  the  plumage  moults — per- 
haps the  raiment  matures  and  drops  off  like  foliage — if 
so,  I  should  think  that  season  about  due. 

The   women,   too,   "wear   the    same   clothes   all   the 

while" — a  bunch  of 
rags  and  a  heavenly 
smile! — but  though  as 
in  Robinson  Crusoe's 
Isle,  they  very  seldom 
change  the  style, as  they 
say  in  fashion  books, 
"great  variety  is  noticed 
in  the  colors  and  fab- 
rics employed  in  indi- 
vidual creations." 

"Agre  does  not  wither  noi' 
custom  stale  their  infinite 
variety."' 

The  key-note  of  Mex- 
ican fashion  is  simplic- 
ity, and  the  predomi- 
nating style  of  toilette 
is  a  two-piece  costume 
consisting  of  bodice  and 
skirt    of    contrasting 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


Z5 


material  and  color,  the  skirt  being  constructed  on  sim- 
ple  lines,   in   round   length   or   medium   sweep. 

With  tnis  costume  a  blue  scarf  of  diaphanous  texture, 
called  a  reboao,  or  a  black  shawl,  called  a  tapolo,  is 
worn  over  the  head  and  shoulders. 


For  general  utility  nothing  could  surpass  this  grace- 
ful adjunct  to  the  toilette.  It  is  used  not  only  for  pro- 
tection, but  in  it  is  toted  the  baby  or  other  weary 
load. 

Youngsters  able  to  walk  arc  naked  as  to  feet  and 


34 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


in  various  stages  of  decollete  from  the  ground  up. 
As  the  youngest  pequefio  ninos  (pickaninnies)  are 
wrapped  in  their  mother's  shawls  as  described,  their 
layettes  are  a  matter  of  conjecture.  Sometimes  the  Ht- 
tle  urchins  have  a  layout  of  ragged  underwear — 
merely   this   and   nothing   more — sometimes   only   the 


outer  garments,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  general  peek- 
a-boo  effect  of  the  visible  attire.  The  only  completely 
covered  boys  I  have  seen  wore  white  combination  suits 
such  as  we  call  night  bloomers  in  Chicago — here  they 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


35 


bloom  in  the  day  time.  In  fact,  all  the  kids  in  Mexico 
seem  either  preparing  or  ready  for  bed,  and  the  aver- 
age boy  could  jump  out  of  his  entire  vesture  in  one 
yump. 


Some  of  the  young  women  and  many  of  the  little 
ragamuffins  are  really  pretty,  with  bright  eyes  and 
rich  complexions,  white  teeth  and  glossy  hair.  We 
quite  fell  in  love  with  one  bonita  to-day  and  she 
thoroughly   appreciated  the   admiration.     The  pretty 


36 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


girls  are  greatly  set  off  by  the  background  of  griz- 
zled, mummified  old  women,  who  seem  never  to  be 
too  decrepit  or  too  miserable  not  to  want  to  see  the 
trains  come  in. 


ppp— ^ 


Altogether  they  form  a  spectacle  abject  and  pitiful, 
yet  so  strikingly  foreign  that  one  feels  as  if  he  were 
on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  rather  than  only  a  few 
hours  from  our  modern  civilization  and  prosperity. 

What  do  they  think,  I  wonder,  of  the  world  from 
which  come  the  long  trains  filled  with  people  as  strange 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


37 


to  them  as  they  are  to  the  strangers  ?  For  they  know  no 
other  Hfe  than  that  of  the  desert — in  ignorance  they 
are  primeval. 

To  say  that  I  am  in  my  seventh  heaven  with  such 
subjects  for  snapshots  is  putting  it  several  stories  too 
low.  I'm  in  the  utmost  empyrean  heights.  Mexico  is 
a  paradise  for  a  camera  fiend,  for  not  only  are  there 
abundant  subjects,  but  the  sunshine  is  so  clear  and 
steady  that  photog- 
raphy is  a  perfect  de- 
light. I  go  snapping 
around  like  a  Spitz 
dog!  If  only  the 
camera  could  repro- 
duce the  wealth  of 
color  in  the  outland- 
ish costumes,  in  the 
soft  eyes  and  olive 
skins  of  the  people, 
in  the  landscape  and 
wonderful  sky  —  but 
all  this  must  be  sup- 
plied by  the  imagin 
ation  of  those  who 
have  not  seen  the 
originals,  by  the 
memory  of  those 
who  have. 

And  with  the  strange  people  there  is  also  the 
strange  language  to  add  to  the  feeling  that  one  is 
"in  foreign  "parts."  The  cars  along  the  Nacional  are 
premier,  scgunda  or  terccra  clasc.  They  are  not,  how- 
ever, like  the  European  "classified"  cars,  but  are  Amer- 
ican coaches  of  a  degree  of  respectability  in  accordance 
with  their  clasc  distinction.     Freight  cars  on  the  side- 


273v'S9 


38  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

tracks  tell  the  capacidad  in  kilos.  Over  the  ticket 
office  in  stations  large  enough  to  have  a  ticket  office 
(and  they  are  few  and  far  between)  is  the  sign 
"dispacho  de  hoi  etas."  A  sleeping  car  is  a  coche 
dorniitorio — well,  never  mind,  this  isn't  a  glossary. 
I'm  adding  insult  to  injury,  as  the  parrot  said  when 
he  was  not  only  taken  from  his  native  land  to  England, 
but  made  to  talk  the  language ! 

We  crossed  the  Tropic  of  Cancer  about  eleven 
o'clock  and  can  fully  realize  that  we  have  entered  the 
Torrid  Zone,  for  it  is  very  hot  in  the  blazing  sun- 
shine. This,  however,  is  not  what  is  called  the  tierra 
caliente,  or  hot  country — that  is  on  the  coast.  Up 
here  we  are  on  a  table  land,  "the  backbone  of  ^Mexico," 
and  this  region  is  the  tierra  tcmplada,  or  temperate 
land.  The  mean  temperature  of  this  tierra  is  given 
as  70°,  but  I  think  it  is  meaner  than  that  to-day.  In 
my  opinion  Old  ]\Iexico  has  enough  temperature  to 
need  ice.  And,  by  the  way,  that  is  one  of  the  mys- 
teries of  this  car — the  way  the  ice  keeps. 

It  seems  strange  to  think  we  are  in  the  same  lati- 
tude in  the  Avestern  world  in  which  is  the  Desert  of 
Sahara  in  the  eastern  hemisphere — we  are  south  of 
the    southernmost   part   of   Egypt. 

This  is  the  highest  altitude  of  the  journey  over  the 
Nacional,  Catorce,  the  last  town  in  the  Temperate 
Zone  being  9,042  feet.  Catorce  means  "fourteen" — a 
queer  name  for  a  town.  It  was  given  "in  honor''  of 
fourteen  outlaw^s  who  discovered  the  mines  near  by. 

We  are  going  like  an  arrow  across  a  flat  desert  and 
are  almost  buried  alive  in  dust.  It  is  no  wonder  if  this 
is  dry  reading.  The  view  is  at  times  completely  ob- 
scured by  clouds  of  fine  sand.  We  have  had  to  abandon 
"the  porch,"  but  there  isn't  much  to  look  at  now  except 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  39 

the  two  glittering  streaks  of  steel  diminishing  into 
space  hehind.  The  landscape  is  just  "foreground 
golden  dirt,"  with  middle  distance  and  far  distance  all 
the  same,  with  always  the  far-away  mountains  that 
form  a  rim  for  this  big  pan  of  sugar. 

State  of  Guanajuato. 
S  p.  m. 

"Reckon  you-all  better  come  right  out  if  you  don't 
want  to  eat  dirt,"  Oliver  said  when  he  announced 
luncheon.  We-all  could  easily  have  consumed  our 
allotted  peck  at  one  fell  swoop  if  he  hadn't  been  so 
careful  to  cover  everything.  And  even  at  that  the 
dishes  were  gritty  before  the  meal  was  over. 

There  were  a  hundred  miles  of  that  desert.  We  came 
straight  across  it  without  a  curve.  Then  gradually  the 
aspect  of  the  country  changed  again  and  we  could 
sit  outside  to  enjoy  it.  It  grew  hilly  and  there  were 
beautiful  views  as  we  passed  through  fertile  valleys 
where  we  caught  glimpses  of  flourishing  haciendas. 
At  Bocas  is  one  of  the  most  notable  of  these  estates, 
said  to  be  worth  a  million  dollars.  As  to  whether  that 
means  "U.  S."  or  "Mex.,"  deponent  saith  not— it  would 
be  all  one  to  me  if  he  did. 

The  place  looked  like  a  fortress,  with  its  white  walls 
of  stone,  and  like  a  green  oasis  with  its  gardens  and 
tropical  plants  and  trees.  The  top  of  the  white  build- 
ings and  the  spires  of  a  chapel  gleamed  in  the  sun- 
shine against  a  vivid  background  of  foliage. 

Along  the  green  banks  of  the  irrigation  ditches  that 
bring  water  to  these  haciendas  were  groups  of  women 
washing  their  clothes,  the  bushes  around  being  draped 
with  garments  of  many  hues,  children  bathing  in 
the  shallow  pools  while  their  clothing  was  in  the  laun- 


40  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

dry.  It  would  seem  a  useless  waste  of  time  and  en- 
ergy, if  time  or  much  energy  were  of  any  value  to  these 
people,  for  we  know  from  experience  how  impossible  it 
is  to  stay  clean  in  such  a  dusty  country.  Considering 
the  scarcity  of  water,  it  is  really  very  much  to  their 
credit  that  the  poor  creatures  even  try  to  be  clean. 
Water  is  such  a  luxury  that  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see 
women  with  their  alias,  or  earthen  jugs,  catching  the 
water  that  drains  out  of  the  waste-pipes  of  the  locomo- 
tive at  the  little  towns  in  the  desert.  What  they  drink 
I  do  not  know ;  we  are  supplied  with  spring  water. 

We  reached  San  Luis  Potosi  about  two  o'clock.  A 
very  ancient  town  is  this,  named  "Saint  Louis  of  the 
Treasure"  for  its  old-time  silver  mines,  which  were 
thought  to  resemble  the  Potosi  mines  of  Peru.  There 
was  a  half-hour  wait  here  for  the  train  passengers  to 
eat.  As  always,  there  were  the  throngs  of  natives  at 
the  station,  as  if  it  were  a  gala  day— all  the  types  with 
which  tourists  soon  become  familiar — the  men  with 
their  cigarettes,  beggars  with  their  empty  palms.  The 
better  looking  senoras  leave  the  silky  black  hair  un- 
covered, wearing  the  tapoio  around  their  shoulders. 
The  poorer  ones,  or  what  appear  to  be  so,  wear  the 
blue  rchozo  over  their  probably  unkempt  tresses. 
There  were  priests  with  long  gowns  and  shorn  heads, 
and  fruit  venders  of  both  sexes,  the  women  squatting 
on  the  platform  or  sidewalk  with  their  goods  spread 
out  around  them,  the  men  with  a  loaded  tray  on  their 
heads  and  carrying  a  folding  rack  like  a  camp-stool ; 
at  the  least  encouraging  sign  of  a  possible  cus- 
tomer, they  transfer  the  stock  in  trade  from  the  head 
to  the  rack,  and  behold,  a  fruit  store  open  for  busi- 
ness, with  an  eager  salesman  behind  the  counter  and 
your  choice  of  fruits  and  dulccs  of  all  sorts.    We  tried 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  41 

something  in  the  dulcy  Hne  that  looked  rather  good 
— some  kind  of  sHced  meion-Hke  fruit  coated  over 
with  crystalHzed  sugar.  I  was  glad  I  took  a  small 
bite — it  was  like  raw  pumpkin. 

There  was  a  man  selling  little  tortoise-shell  trays 
made  of  horse  hoofs  who,  my  hubby  said,  was  the 
same  one  he  bought  one  of  in  '96 ;  and  there  were  men 
with  opals  and  women  with  drawnwork. 

The  city  of  San  Luis  Potosi  is  said  to  be  very 
interesting.  Of  course,  we  could  only  get  the  "gen- 
eral efifect"  from  the  station.  A  very  old  church 
stands  inside  what  are  now  railroad  yards.  We  asked 
a  Mexican  what  it  was,  pointing  to  it.  He  crossed 
himself  and  smiled  politely.  Mexican  Rebeccas  kept 
coming  with  the  great  red  urn-like  jars  to  a  water- 
spout near  the  car,  and  having  filled  them,  carried 
them  away  on  their  shoulders,  supporting  them  with  all 
the  grace  of  a  Greek  statue.  The  very  up-to-date 
railway  station  looked  strange,  surrounded  by  build- 
ings of  mediaeval  architecture.  It  is  more  suitable 
for  Saint  Louis  Missouri,  than  for  San  Luis  Potosi. 

And  speaking  of  towns  named  after  the  saints,  a 
stranger  in  Mexico  would  have  as  much  trouble  to 
locate  the  particular  San  Pedro  or  Jose  or  Miguel  or 
Francisco  he  wanted  as  one  in  our  country  would 
have  in  finding  a  certain  Smithfield  or  Lewistown  or 
Jacksonville  or  Jonesboro — each  state  has  at  least  one 
of  each.  The  next  town  after  San  Luis  is  Jesus  Maria. 
Of  course  no  brakesman  shouts  the  names  of  the  sta- 
tions into  the  door  of  the  400,  but  suppose  Evanston, 
for  instance,  had  been  thus  named — we  usually  stop 
four  times  in  Evanston  and  hear  the  name  shouted 
twice  at  each  stop  and  at  each  start  at  each  station  at 


42 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


each  end  of  the  car,  and  each  time  with  a  slam  of  the 
door! 

The  country  grows  more  and  more  productive  and 
prosperous  looking.  There  are  many  cultivated  acres 
of  the  agave  or  maguey,  which  we  call  the  century 
plant,  from  which  pulque,  the  ^Mexican  whiskey,  is 
made. 


The  guide-book  describes  in  detail  the  primitive 
manner  in  which  the  sap  is  extracted  from  the  plant. 
It  seems  that  when  it  is  about  to  bloom,  which  hap- 
pens but  once  in  the  life  of  the  plant,  the  bud  is  cut 
off,  the  sap  allowed  to  collect  in  the  hollow  where  the 
stem  was  taken  out  and  a  peon  sucks  the  juice  into  a 
gourd,  emptying  the  gourd  as  fast  as  it  is  filled  into 
a  pigskin  sack  which  he  carries  on  his  back.  My, 
doesn't  that  sound  good? 

These  lazy  suckers  have  to  work  fast,  for  the  liquor 
ferments  very  rapidly  and  after  twenty-four  hours  is 
flat,  stale  and  unprofitable.  Mescal,  a  distilled  liquor 
made  from  the  juice,  is  highly  intoxicating.    Pulque  is 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  43 

very  cheap,  being  worth  only  about  fifty  cents  a  gallon. 
I  have  read  somewhere  that  after  it  is  imported  by 
the  United  States  from  France,  bottled  as  cognac,  it 
sells  for  four  dollars  a  bottle. 

There  are  countless  varieties  of  cacti  in  this  part 
of  the  world.  They  grow  in  jungles,  the  shrubby 
kinds,  and  other  varieties  look  like  distorted  apple  trees. 
They  often  cover  acres  of  country,  like  great,  weird 
orchards.  There  is  a  tall,  straight  kind,  the  organo 
(from  its  resemblance  to  organ  pipes),  that  is  used  for 
protection  around  the  little  huts  and  the  great  haciendas 
— of  course,  covered  with  prickers.  The  commonest 
variety,  the  "prickly  pear,"  makes  dense,  impenetrable 
hedges  and  grows  to  enormous  size.  There  are  sev- 
eral varieties  of  the  vulgaris  species,  promiscuously 
called  "prickly  pear,"  'Tndian  fig,"  tuna,  nopal ;  best 
described  as  the  "dog-ear  kind."  Don't  ever  touch 
the  most  innocent  looking  of  them !  Mr.  Newhall 
managed  to  land  some  specimens  on  the  platform,  but 
they  were  tartars  and  he  won't  try  it  again.  The  long 
green  bristles  look  soft  and  tender,  but  don't  you  be- 
lieve them.  Every  cactus  plant  is  a  deadly  foe  stand- 
ing on  guard  with  "fixed  bayonets." 

Some  varieties  of  cacti  bear  fruit  that  is  much  liked 
by  the  natives.  Some  portions  of  the  plants  are  used 
for  fodder,  after  singeing  off  the  whiskers.  Some  are 
used  for  their  fibre  for  various  purposes.  When  the 
tuna  is  in  fruit,  the  Mexicans  care  for  no  other  food 
and  will  not  work  during  the  season  of  plenty. 

I  suppose  the  nopal  is  the  Nacional  cactus,  as  it 
figures  in  the  national  legend.  We  read  that  the 
ancient  Aztecs,  during  their  migrations  in  search  of 
a  suitable  town  site,  came  upon  a  sacrificial  stone  upon 
which  one  of  their  priests  had  once  made  a  burnt  offer- 


44  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

iug  of  a  captive  hostile  chief.  Upon  a  cactus  which 
grew  in  a  crevice  in  this  stone  there  sat  an  eagle,  hold- 
ing a  serpent  in  his  beak.  This  w^as  considered  to  be 
symbolical  of  victory  and  interpreted  as  a  good  omen 
to  themselves,  and  the  tribal  pueblo  was  built  upon  the 
spot.  The  place  was  called  Tenochtitlan,  or  "place 
of  the  cactus  rock,"  but  the  name  "Mexico,"  as  the 
city  which  was  thus  founded  was  afterward  called, 
was  taken  from  one  of  the  names  of  the  w^ar  god 
Huitzilopochtli  jMexitli — choosing  the  lesser  of  two 
evils,  the  name  Alexitli  being  obviously  rather  to  be 
chosen  than  Huitzilopochtli. 

This  is  the  origin  of  the  eagle  and  serpent  as  the 
Mexican  national  emblem. 

They  all  think  I'm  copying  the  guide-book.  I'm  only 
translating  it,  as  a  matter  of  fact — putting  it  into  easy 
lessons  for  beginners.  But  it  is  wasting  time  to  stay 
indoors,  so  here  endeth  the  first  lesson. 


Gonzales  Jc. 

9  p.  VI. 

During  the  afternoon  a  grand  senor,  the  Jmciendado 
or  proprietor  of  some  large  plantation,  alighted  from 
the  train.  He  had  been  away  on  business  or  pleasure 
and  was  met  at  the  flag  station  near  the  hacienda  by 
his  carriage  (a  white-canvas-covered  two-seated  fam- 
ily carry-all)  and  a  fine  team  of  horses.  He  looked 
like  a  Mexican  Hamlet,  all  in  black — tight  trousers 
and  short  jacket  and  an  enormous  felt  sombrero — 
how  heavy  and  hot  it  must  have  been !  He  had  the 
air  of  a  prince,  but  was  Americanized  to  the  extent 
of  white   collar  and  cuflfs. 

The  train  crossed  a  wide  arroyo   by  means   of  a 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  45 

viaduct  of  wonderful  construction  just  before  reach- 
ing the  last  important  town  of  the  day's  run — San 
Felipe.  We  had  a  striking  view  of  the  town,  its  tow- 
ers and  roofs  shining  like  silver  in  a  spot-light  of 
brilliant  sunshine  in  the  distance,  across  a  long  inter- 
vening stretch  of  shadow. 

It  seemed  a  pity  to  see  the  day  drawing  to  a  close, 
for  the  country  was  more  beautiful  every  hour.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  last  few  miles  of  the  journey, 
through  a  wide  broken  valley,  green  as  the  promised 
land,  peaceful  as  a  dream,  quiet  and  lonely  as  the 
vale  of  death.  We  watched  the  deep  blue  shadows 
creep  up  the  sides  of  the  encircling  mountains  while 
all  the  wide  scene  around  us  was  glowing  with  re- 
flections from  the  western  sky.  A  river  w^ound  zig- 
zag through  the  picture,  little  lonely  huts  nestled 
under  protecting  banks  and  amongst  the  green  vines 
and  shrubs.  Only  a  solitary  home-returning  figure 
now  and  then  made  the  picture  a  reality.  The  charm 
of  it  all  made  us  silent.  It  seemed  as  if  a  word 
would  break  the  spell — a  feeling  that  to  me  was 
like  music — like  the  melody  of  a  June  day,  when 
"heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune"  and  sets  all 
the   harmonies   of  the   universe   vibrating. 

Softly  the  light  faded  as  we  watched  the  "shadows 
of  departing  day."  then  all  at  once  the  train  dashed 
into  a  deep  cut,  it  became  abruptly  dark  and  almost 
as  abruptly  chilly.  A  brakesman  brought  the  lanterns 
for  the  rear  end  and  we  left  the  v/orld  to  darkness 
and  came  inside,  after  trying  in  vain  to  see  anything 
besides  the  glimmer  of  a  few  early  lights  in  Dolores 
Hidalgo,  of  historic  renown. 

This  towm  is  known  as  the  birth-place  of  Hidalgo 
and  as  the  "cradle  of  independence,"  for  it  was  hero 


46  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

that  the  patriot  priest  fired  his  countrymen,  "the  wild 
hosts  of  Hidalgo,"  with  the  spirit  of  '76 — in  1810. 
From  the  belfry  of  the  little  church  in  Dolores 
("Hidalgo"  was  added  to  the  name  later)  were  first 
heard  the  sounds  of  freedom  that  was  proclaimed  by 
the  grito,  the  "Cry  of  Dolores."  That  bell  is  now  the 
Liberty  Bell  of  the  republic  and  rings  out  its  jubilate 
over  the  City  of  Mexico  on  every  Independence  Day, 
the  1 6th  of  September. 

We  ate  dinner  under  difficulties  to-night,  for  the 
glasses  and  cups  emptied  themselves  as  fast  as  they 
were  filled — plates  slid  all  over  the  table  and  into  our 
laps — silver  rattled  and  we  were  as  likely  to  put  our 
forks  or  spoons  into  our  neighbor's  mouth  as  into  our 
own.  Mr.  Brigham,  who  knows  all  about  railroads, 
said  he  never  saw  such  short  curves  in  such  narrow 
cuts,  nor  cut  around  such  short  curves  in  such  a  short 
time. 

A  half-hour  stop  at  Gonzales  for  whatever  they  call 
the  meal  at  8 :30  gives  me  the  opportunity  to  finish  ni}' 
day's  travelogue.  I  have  written  on  the  wing  before, 
but  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  even  my  shorthand 
at  this  last  state  of  joggle. 

We  got  ofif  for  a  few  moments  and  stood  around  on 
the  platform  and  listened  to  a  blind  musician  (?)  who 
gave  a  pathetic  rendition  of  "La  Paloma."  accompany- 
ing his  poor  old  cracked  voice  with  the  "gentle  strains" 
of  an  old  cracked  harp  of  home-made  appearance.  \A'e 
thanked  him — liberally — and  then  played  the  song  for 
him  on  the  Victor,  to  his  astonishment  and  that  of  the 
crowd.  And,  by  the  way,  we  are  getting  a  little 
chary  about  encouraging  "the  crowd"  too  close,  for 
they  are  an  anarchistic-looking  lot  of  ruffians  that 
gather  round  the  train  at  night  and  it  is  their  unfor- 


Tlic  Tour  of  the  400.  47 

tunate  reputation  that  they'd  rather  be  steaHng  than 
eat — and  I  am  sure  they  would  gladly  eat — they  look 
as  hungry  as  wolves. 

A  funny  little  Mexican  private  car  has  just  been 
coupled  on  behind  us — hope  it  will  hold  us  down. 
To  judge  by  the  shadows  cast  before  by  those  last  few 
miles,  I  am  sure  there  are  coming  events  in  the  way 
of  curves — the  guardian  angel  will  have  to  make  a 
record  run.  That  is  shocking,  isn't  it?  But  I  was 
thinking  of  another  story — one  of  Mr.  James' — about 
a  man  who  boastfully  undertook  to  spend  a  night 
alone  in  a  much-feared  haunted  house.  Being  awak- 
ened at  the  spooky  hour  by  the  soft  touch  of  a  furry 
paw  he  opened  his  eyes  to  see  a  horrible  creature  with 
the  body  of  an  animal  and  a  head  like  a  gargoyle 
looking  at  him.  One  look  was  enough — it  was  hello- 
good-bye-sorry-I-can't-stop !  At  the  end  of  a  breath- 
less five-mile  dash  he  stopped,  thinking  he  had  far  out- 
stripped the  creature,  but  only  to  find  it  beside  him. 
"That  was  quite  a  race  we  had."  it  remarked  in  a 
casual  way.  "Yes,  but  not  a  marker  to  the  one  we're 
going  to  have" — and  he  was  gone. 

Hotel  Palacio,  Ciudad  de  Mejico. 

Domingo,  Fcbrcro  IS. 

This  will  be  a  long  story  to  tell,  for  it  has  been  a  day 
brimful  of  sights,  experiences  and  impressions. 

To  resume  where  I  left  off,  in  spite  of  the  hippity- 
hop  locomotion,  we  all  slept  as  soundly  last  night  as  if 
we  were  being  jounced  to  sleep  on  our  mother's  knee. 
It  is  my  personal  belief  that  every  member  of  the  fam- 
ily "went  to  bed  with  his  stockings  on,"  but  of  course 
r  can  only  speak  for  myself.  I  could  have  responded 
to  a  2:11  call  without  delav. 


48  The  Tour  of  the  400. 


We  learned  from  our  northern  spy  that  we  were  safe 
and  sound  in  the  City  of  The  Conquerors  when  we 
woke,  the  400  side-tracked  and  deserted,  for  the  train 
had  silently  stolen  away — at  least  nobody  heard  it. 

Aiter  breakfasting  on  the  car,  we  put  a  few  neces- 
saries into  suit  cases  and  set  out  to  see  the  sights. 

I  wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  be  taken  from  noisy, 
grimy,  sky-scraping  Chicago  and  be  put  down  directly 
into  Mexico  City  on  Sunday  morning.  Of  course  a 
thousand  miles  of  Mexico  had  prepared  us  in  a  meas- 
ure for  what  we  saw  this  morning,  but  after  all  it  w^as 
a  strange  sensation,  as  of  being  on  earth  before  "when 
the  world  was  new  and  all,"  as  Kipling  says,  for  Time 
seemed  to  have  turned  backward  a  few  centuries  and 
the  world  to  have  turned  over  on  the  other  side  and 
gone  to  sleep.  We  were  in  old  Jerusalem  or  Con- 
stantinople or  were  dreaming  ourselves — surely  it  was 
not  America. 

Everything  was  dazzlingly  white  and  dazzingly  blue 
— the  low-roofed  white  stone  or  whitewashed  build- 
ings and  the  vivid  Mexican  sky  made  a  background 
that  intensified  the  gay  colors  on  all  the  people  about. 

Of  course  the  first  thing  was  to  find  a  hotel,  and 
since  it  was  "sech  a  pleasant  mornin'  an'  sech  a  short 
walk,"  we  thought  we'd  walk,  and  each  began  on  a 
different  native  to  ask  the  way.  "Sanz  Hotel'"  seemed 
a  very  easy  thing  to  understand,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
our  pantomime  would  be  easily  comprehensible  as  'T 
want  to  go  there."  But  "Sanz  Hotel"  is  one  thing — 
"Otel  Sanz"  is  cjuite  another.  But  finally  a  small  boy 
"caught  on,"  as  it  takes  a  boy  to  do,  and  taking  a 
jingling  hint  that  it  would  pay  him  to  do  so,  he  picked 
up  the  bags  and  proceeded  to  guide  us. 

It  proved  a  long  walk,  but  a  pleasant  one.    We  took 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  49 

it  leisurely,  remembering  the  altitude  and  finding 
everything  too  interesting  to  want  to  hurry. 

Long  rows  of  stone  walls  with  grated  windows  look 
forbidding  till  one  sees  through  on  open  portal  a 
glimpse  of  the  courtyard  around  which  all  Mexican 
houses  are  built — the  patio,  it  is  called.  Here  are 
bright  flowers  and  green  palms  and  climbing  vines, 
roses  in  bloom  and  sparkling  fountains.  Add  to  these 
an  oriental-looking  figure  in  a  doorway,  or  a  little 
dusky  face  with  bright  curious  eyes  peeping  out  at 
you  from  behind  some  friendly  screen,  then  imagine 
the  balmy  sunshine  and  that  is  the  best  I  can  do  at  a 
reproduction  of  the  picture. 

We  finally  came  to  a  wide,  handsome  boulevard, 
the  Paseo  de  la  Reforma,  where  the  wealthiest  peoi)le 
of  the  city  live  in  more  or  less  modified  Mexican  style. 
Every  now  and  then  the  avenue  broadened  into  a 
glorieta,  or  circle,  where  a  statue  or  fountain  was 
placed,  with  great  stone  benches  on  which  the  pic- 
turesque natives  pose  in  true  Alma-Tadema  effect. 
The  most  remarkable  of  these  staues  is  an  equestrienne 
Charles  IV.,  the  largest  bronze  casting  in  the  world, 
horse  and  rider  all  one  piece.  It  is  the  pride  of  the 
city  that  this  casting  was  done  in  her  own  foundries 
and  a  tablet  in  Spanish  is  said  to  explain  that  the 
statue  is  retained  in  this  conspicuous  place  not  to  do 
honor  any  longer  to  King  Charles,  but  rather  as  a 
wonderful  piece  of  art. 

Our  way  led  through  a  beautiful  park,  or  alamcda, 
as  it  is  called — and  this  is  the  Alameda  of  Mexico — 
a  great  bower  of  green  foliage,  through  which  the 
sunshine  seemed  to  sift,  falling  in  bright  specks  all 
over  the  velvety  green  grass.  Through  shadowy 
vistas  were  glimpses  of  the  white  walls  or  towers  of 


50  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

some  ancient  church — there  were  statues  and  foun- 
tains, "around  which  were  clustered  the  gracefully 
draped  people,  and  flowers  and  tropical  plants,  both 
great  and  small,  while  all  about  was  the  chirping  of  a 
birdies'   ball. 

And  another  concert  than  that  of  the  birds  was  in 
preparation.  Carpets  Avere  being  spread  and  awnings 
and  banners  stretched  along  the  walks,  for  some  dis- 
tinguished personage  is  visiting  the  city  and  the  usual 
Sunday  band  concert  was  to  be  a  special  occasion. 
We  applied  all  the  words  of  welcome  (those  we  could 
make  out)  to  ourselves  and  felt  as  pleased  at  the  signs 
of  hospitality  as  if  the  "glad  hand"'  was  extended  for 
our  reception. 

Eventually  The  Sanz  appeared,  an  old  building,  as 
unlike  a  hotel  in  appearance  as  possible.  It  was  in 
fact  an  old  residence  and  in  its  day  had  been  a  very 
fine  one.  Like  all  Mexican  houses,  it  shut  out  the 
world  with  a  solid  wall  on  the  street,  with  only  a 
large  entrance  big  enough  to  drive  through.  This 
old  portal  is  now  fitted  out  with  ordinary  doors,  for 
it  is  no  longer  used  as  a  carriage  entrance  as  in  days 
gone  by  when  the  horses  and  carriages  were  housed 
with  the  family  who  lived  in  the  casa  grandc.  The 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor  around  the  patio,  now  used 
as  dining  room,  barber  shop  and  offices,  were  built  for 
stables  and  servants'  quarters,  the  family  occupying 
the  upper  rooms,  all  of  which  open  on  the  "gallery." 

A  fountain  in  which  were  goldfish  and  water  plants 
was  in  the  center  of  the  stone-paved  court,  and  under 
the  cloister-like  arches,  in  startling  contrast  to  all 
their  mediaeval  surroundings,  were  some  aggressively 
up-to-date  "mission"  rockers  with  great  pudgy  leather 
cushions,  fresh  from  the  missions  in  Grand  Rapids. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  51 

But  to  tell  the  truth,  they  were  at  that  moment  the 
most  attractive  features  of  the  place. 

Unfortunately,  there  were  no  rooms  to  be  had  at 
The  Sanz.  This  hostelry  had  been  so  well  recom- 
mended that  the  news  was  in  the  nature  of  a  crushing 
blow.  Telephone  communication  was  productive  of  no 
better  luck  at  the  Iturbide  or  the  Jardin,  and  the  best 
to  be  had  was  the  Palacio.  To  the  "400,"  with  recol- 
lections of  former  Palaces,  a  hotel  would  have  smelled 
as  sweet  by  any  other  name,  but  the  "400"  cannot 
always  be  choosers  ;  so  we  took  some  blue-flag  carriages 
to  the  Palacio.  By  ''blue  flag"  we  mean  first-class,  for 
in  "The  City"  the  style,  condition  and  length  of  servi- 
tude of  public  hacks  is  designated  by  little  tin  flags  of 
different  colors  displayed  on  the  disengaged  vehicles. 

The  Palacio  is  built  on  the  same  plan  as  The  Sanz, 
minus  the  fountain  and  plus  a  roof  over  the  court,  the 
rooms  above  the  ground  floor  opening  on  gallery  hall- 
ways. 

Each  chamber  or  suite  has  a  little  vestibule  with 
chairs  for  callers,  and  the  doors  are  double  and  as  light 
as  those  of  a  wardrobe.  These  are  supposed  to  be 
fastened  by  bolting  one  to  the  floor  and  locking  the 
other  to  it.  As  there  is  no  bolt  on  ours,  it  is  somewhat 
immaterial  whether  they  are  locked  or  not — it  seems  a 
little  more  private  with  the  key  turned,  though.  An- 
other set  of  doors  in  our  palacial  apartment  (and  if 
gorgeousness  of  carpet  and  hangings  is  palatial,  it  is 
that)  opens  into  quite  a  modern  bath  room.  In  this 
case  one  door  is  hung  with  the  inside  outside  or  the 
other  with  the  outside  inside — at  any  rate  the  flange  is 
wrong-side-out-side,  so  they  can't  close.  I  tried  every 
which  way  to  get  the  hang  of  them,  but  only  got  a 
black  and  blue  nail  for  my  pains.    We  turn  the  key  as 


52  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

a  matter  of  form  and  after  our  banc  play  unlock  it 
again. 

Being  too  eager  to  begin  sightseeing  to  care  much 
about  interiors  for  the  present,  we  disposed  of  our  bag- 
gage quickly  and  sallied  forth  once  more.  When  we 
came  down  to  the  office  floor  we  found  our  supposed 
names  stencilled  in  white  chalk  on  a  big  blackboard — 
not  as  a  notice  to  the  police  or  anything  like  that,  but 
to  tell  our  possible  callers  and  our  fellow  guests  what 
rooms  we  occupied.  If  the  spelling  was  erratic,  at 
least  it  was  taken  from  the  signatures  on  the  register, 
so  we  forbear  comment — and  it  was  easily  erased  and 
made  right.  Hanging  conspicuously  in  the  inner  office 
was  a  large  photograph  of  our  own  Dowie  "in  full 
pontificals,"  for  this  is  where  he  ''puts  up""  when  in 
Mexico. 

First  decorating  ourselves  with  bunches  of  freshly- 
gathered  wood  violets  that  were  offered  by  women  with 
big  baskets  full  of  them,  we  proceeded  to  the  post  of- 
fice, and  here  the  girls  found  things  sweeter  than  vio- 
lets— whole  armfuls  of  valentines  and  letters  which 
had  wasted  none  of  their  sweetness  on  the  desert 
air  coming  south — to  judge  by  the  pleasure  exhibited 
by  the  recipients. 

The  post  office  is  in  a  part  of  the  Palacio  Xacioiial. 
one  of  the  most  notable  buildings  in  the  city.  Archi- 
tecturally it  is  "squat  and  unpretentious" — three  sto- 
ries high,  the  front  extending  along  the  entire  east  side 
of  a  public  square  about  the  size  of  four  ordinary  city 
blocks,  with  wings  at  each  end  extending  backward 
a  block  or  so.  Historically  it  is  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting buildings  in  America.  On  the  site  it  occupies 
stood,  at  the  time  of  the  Conquest,  "the  new  palace  of 
Montezuma."    This  was  destroved  bv  Cortez,  who  built 


Th^  Tour  of  the  400.  53 

a  palace  for  himself  on  the  ground.  This  was  also  aft- 
erward destroyed  and  the  present  building  is  over  two 
hundred  years  old.  From  this  spot  Mexico  has  been 
governed  for  nearly  four  centuries,  President  Diaz  be- 
ing the  first  Mexican  "ruler"  who  did  not  occupy  the 
National  Palace.  Since  his  administration  began  it  has 
been  the  Capitol  building,  containing  the  Presidential 
offices,  Senate  Chamber  and  Post  Office. 

The  Plaaa  Mayor  de  la  Constitucion,  in  front  of  the 
National  Palace,  was  four  hundred  years  ago  an  open 
space  in  front  of  the  great  teocalli,  or  Aztec  temple, 
where  in  the  dark  ages  of  idolatry  multitudes  of  sav- 
ages gathered  to  devour  ceremonially  the  bodies  of 
the  Aactims  sacrificed  on  the  pyramid  of  the  "temple" 
after  their  beating  hearts  had  been  cut  out  as  an  of- 
fering to  their  gods !  To-day  this  great  open  space 
is  the  public  square  of  the  city — not  a  park,  although 
in  the  center  is  a  garden,  the  Zocolo,  a  name  by 
which  the  Plaza  itself  is  commonly  called.  Zocolo 
means  "foundation"  and  the  name  refers  to  a  monu- 
ment to  Mexican  independence,  of  which  the  foun- 
dation alone  was  completed.  The  Zocolo  is  the  heart 
of  the  city.  It  is  the  point  from  which  all  street- 
cars start  and  where  the  band  plays  every  afternoon, 
so  it  is  always  thronged  with  people. 

And  what  a  picture  it  makes !  Dashes  of  red  and 
purple  and  yellow  and  blue  make  a  brilliant  "detail" 
which  combined  form  a  gorgeous  mass  of  color 
against  the  background  of  green  trees,  beyond  which 
are  seen  the  towers  and  dome  of  the  Cathedral,  fac- 
ing the  north  side  of  the  Plaza. 

Many  people  in  the  streets,  carrying  prayer-books 
and  rosaries,  were  walking  to  church,  and  there  we 
followed  them,  for  the  old  cathedral  is  the  principal 


54  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

sight  in  Mexico  City,  regarded  as  the  finest  edifice 
on  the  American  continent — not  to  speak  of  its  his- 
torical   associations. 

The  trees  in  the  garden  of  the  Zocolo  prevent  a 
general  view  of  the  Cathedral,  which  spreads  over 
such  immense  space  that  the  architectural  "point 
of  view"  should  be  at  some  distance.  From  a  side- 
walk observation  one  cannot  take  in  much  beside  the 
solidity  of  the  white  stone  walls  and  some  of  the 
sculptural  detail.  Adjoining  the  Cathedral,  seeming 
indeed  a  part  of  it,  is  the  Segrario  MctropoUtano,  or 
first  parish  church.  The  Cathedral  is  described  as 
Moorish  in  style,  the  segrario  as  "Churrigueresque," 
from  the  name  of  a  native  architect.  It  has  an  elabo- 
rately carved  fagade  which  contrasts  strongly  with  the 
severe,  massive  front  of  the  Cathedral.  A  little  chapel, 
massive  front  of  the  Cathedral.  A  little  chapel,  La 
La  CapcUa  dc  la  Solcdad,  unites  the  two  buildings  and 
there  are  more  chapels  in  the  rear. 

The  Cathedral  is  a  stone-embodied  history  of  Mex- 
ico— a  romantic  history,  full  of  thrilling  chapters.  It 
is  built  on  the  site  of  the  old  pagan  teocalli.  On  this 
spot  one  place  of  worship  succeeded  another  till  the 
present  structure,  built  by  the  Catholic  Spaniards,  was 
begun  in  1573 — not,  however,  being  completed  with  its 
bell-capped  towers  till  more  than  two  hundred  years 
later — not  exactly  a  mushroom  growth.  It  took  fortv 
years  to  build  the  foundations  alone. 

The  interior  style  is  that  of  the  Spanish  Renais- 
sance— how  Baedeker-like  that  sounds !  And  how 
Baedeker-like  it  felt  to  be  wandering  once  more  in 
an  old  cathedral,  studying  the  fluted  columns,  the 
gilded  carving,  old  and  lovely  with  the  beautifying 
touch  of   decav,   the  once  brilliant  but   darkened  old 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  55 

paintings  on  the  walls,  the  rows  of  chapels  along  the 
aisles,  wherein  knelt  lone  worshipers,  telling-  their 
beads. 

The  efifect  of  space  in  this  great  building  is  lost 
because  of  the  placing  of  the  choir  in  the  middle  of 
the  nave — so  one  is  disappointed  after  having  formed 
an  idea  of  the  immensity  of  the  building  from  the  ex- 
terior proportions.  There  is  said  to  be  a  fabulous 
amount  of  wealth  inside  the  old  walls  of  the  Cathedral 
— in  the  high  altar,  which  is  modern  and  therefore 
inharmonious,  and  in  the  many  other  altars,  one  of 
which  is  a  replica  of  the  famous  Altar  de  Los  Reyes 
(the  Kings)  in  the  Cathedral  of  Seville,  Spain.  Un- 
der this  altar  are  buried  the  bones  of  Iturbide,  the 
heads  of  Hidalgo  and  his  compatriots  and  other  his- 
toric "remains,"  and  before  it  Yturbidc  and  Maximil- 
iano  were  crowned — this  being  the  only  church  in 
America  in  which  the  ceremony  of  a  coronation  was 
ever  witnessed. 

There  are  paintings  by  the  old  Spanish  masters  in 
the  Cathedral,  but  they  are  kept  hidden  away  in  the 
obscurity  of  some  chapter  room ;  having  been  pur- 
chased for  devotional  purposes,  they  are  not  looked 
upon  as  possessions  to  be  exhibited  merely  as  works  of 
art. 

There  are  two  great  organs  which  are  supposedly 
very  fine  instruments.  The  music  we  heard  was  not  of 
a  character  to  demonstrate  any  wonder  of  tone  or 
power,  as  a  service  was  in  progress  for  which  the  music 
was  low  and  monotonous.  It  seemed  to  be  a  strange 
kind  of  service  that  had  no  beginning  and  no  end. 
People  were  coming  and  going  at  random,  all  classes 
kneeling  together  wherever  there  was  a  little  space 
on  the  floor — a  lady  in  silk  side  by  side  with  an  Indian 


36 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


in  a  blanket,  one  as  much  at  liome  as  the  other.  Men 
and  women  would  come  in,  kneel  and  pray,  cross 
themselves  devoutly  and  pass  out  with  many  genu- 
flections. 


Around  the  doors  of  the  Cathedral  sat  all  the  crip- 
ples in  Mexico,  one  would  think — as  repulsive  as  they 
could  possibly  make  themselves.  It  is  said  that  there 
is  a  smaller  percentage  of  "professional''  beggars  in 
Mexico  than  there  are  tramps  in  the  United  States — 
the  tramps  do  not  congregate,  that  is  all.    And  the  door 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


57 


of  a  church  is  a  favorite  place  for  the  pordioscros 
("for-God's-sakers")  of  Mexico.  One  could  only 
wish  that  some  of  the  gold  and  silver  in  the  magnifi- 
cent Cathedral  could  be  used  for  more  practical  Chris- 
tianity. 


After  the  dim  religious  light  of  the  church  the  sun- 
shine was  almost  blinding  as  we  came  out  into  the 
garden  again,  in  a  corner  of  which  we  found  the 
Mercado  dc  las  Flares,  which  we  had  started  out  to 
see,  which  is  at  its  best  on  Sunday  morning.     And  of 


58  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

all  the  Mexican  scenes  this  flower  market  was  the 
brightest,  for  added  to  the  bright  colors  of  the  Spanish 
and  Indian  costumes  were  the  brilliant  masses  of  flow- 
ers under  a  circular  glass  pagoda  that  sparkled  like  an 
enormous  jewel  in  the  sun.  There  were  fresh  straw- 
berries (frcsas)  in  baskets,  and  all  sorts  of  strange 
Mexican  fruits  which  are  never  seen  "up  north."  We 
bought  some  queer  brown  things  that  looked  like 
potatoes — they  were  ver}-  luscious,  having  a  soft,  sweet 
pulp  something  like  a  banana,  with  big,  flat,  black 
seeds.  The  man  called  them  chico  capotes.  On  one 
side  of  the  pavilion  was  a  bird  show,  all  sorts  of 
songsters  for  sale  in  little  wooden  cages ;  and  the  meat 
of  cocoanuts  was  offered  on  big  wooden  trays. 

Coming  back  through  the  Zocolo,  we  passed  long 
rows  of  portales  along  the  west  and  south  sides  of  the 
sc(uare.  These  are  arcades  formed  by  the  exter.sion 
over  the  sidewalk  of  the  upper  stories  of  the  build- 
ings, which  are  supported  by  arches.  It  might  be  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli  if  Parisian  goods  were  displayed  in  the 
shop  windows,  but  the  merchandise  is  purely  Mexican 
and  of  a  tawdry,  cheap  grade.  The  shops  were  all 
open  and  thronged  with  customers,  who  combine  their 
shopping  with  their  church  going. 

So  far  we  had  not  come  "in  touch"  with  any  Mexi- 
can cooking.  When  we  went  in  to  dinner  at  the 
Palacio  we  decided  to  take  something  light — none  of 
your  Mexican  stuff".  The  menu  had  plenty  of  Ameri- 
can dishes — how  would  ham  and  eggs  do?  Even  a 
Mexican  chef  ought  to  be  able  to  cook  ham  and 
eggs.  So  it  was  jamon  c  hiievos  fritos  for  every- 
body but  one — never  mind  who.  He  thought  he 
would  try  "jellied  hare."  Now,  if  it  hadn't  been  that 
we  had  just   remarked  the   remarkable   proximity   of 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  59 

the  dining  room  to  the  barber  shop  I  suppose  I  should 
not  have  thought  anything  of  an  order  for  hare,  jellied 
or  even  frizzled — but  under  the  circumstances !  I  tried 
to  give  no  outward  and  visible  sign  of  the  inward  and 
invisible  reminiscences  of  bygone  days  when  the  Mon- 
tague bang  was  in  flower  (or  in  curl),  but  when  the 
hare  came  in,  jellied  in  gum  of  tragacanth,  it  was  too 
much  for  the  feeble  appetite  I  had — and  Mr.  Blank 
went  right  on  eating  bread,  soggy  though  it  was,  and 
sour.  The  ham  and  eggs  would  have  been  tolerable 
on  clean  plates — the  quality  of  the  coffee  was  like  the 
quality  of  mercy — as  Portia  defines  it.  In  fact,  the 
luncheon  was  not  a  success. 

Still,  'mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may 
roam,  take  it  all  in  all  the  pleasures  far  outnumber  the 
palaces. 

A  trip  to  Mexico  would  not  be  complete  without  a 
bull-fight.  And  it  was  to-day  or  never  for  us,  as 
these  exhibitions  of  the  naeioual  sport  occur  only  on 
Sundays  and  holidays — perhaps  because  the  better  day 
makes  the  deed  seem  better.  We  decided  that  our  hav- 
ing been  to  church  ought  to  be  a  saving  grace  and  ac- 
cordingly at  half-past  two  we  boarded  an  electric  car 
bound  for  the  Plasa  de  Toros,  or  "place  of  bulls." 

This  "place"  is  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  Along 
the  way  mounted  police,  elaborately  festooned  with 
white  braid,  were  drawn  up  at  frequent  intervals, 
though  there  was  no  great  crowd  and  no  sign  of  rioters 
— perhaps  because  of  the  precaution. 

At  the  entrance  we  met  a  number  of  Chicago  men, 
members  of  the  Merchants'  Club.  Among  them  our 
men  found  several  acquaintances.  They  laughed  at 
each  other  for  being  caught  at  the  bull-fight.  "Just 
came  out  of  curiosity,"  they  all  declared. 


60  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

The  Place  of  Bulls  is  a  huge  circular  wooden  build- 
ing. I  was  unconsciously  expecting  something  on  the 
order  of  the  Roman  Coliseum — at  least  something  sub- 
stantial in  old-world  architecture  and  more  romantic 
than  an  overgrown  gas  tank,  and  my  expectations  of 
seeing  something  gladiatorian  in  such  a  place  dropped 
several  pegs. 

Each  of  us  being  supplied  with  a  long  strip  of  blue 
paper,  on  which  was  a  scene  from  the  bull-fight,  we 
interviewed  the  ofhcial  at  the  entrance  and  were  di- 
rected up  a  flight  of  stairs  on  the  outside  of  the  build- 
ing. Arriving  breathlessly  at  the  top,  we  entered  a 
small  door  and  found  ourselves  looking  down  into  the 
auditorium.  The  tickets  read  "Barreras  sombra," 
which  meant  that  our  localidad  was  on  the  shady  side 
of  the  roofless  building — the  desirable  side.  The  sunny 
side  is  called  sol  and  the  seats  are  cheaper. 

The  performance  had  begun  and,  in  fact,  one  "fight" 
was  concluded  soon  after  we  were  seated,  but  as  one 
combat  follows  another  all  the  afternoon,  we  saw  the 
beginning  and  finish  of  one  complete  tournament — and 
a  highly  edifying  spectacle  it  was  ! 

We  had  missed  the  ceremonies  with  which  the  enter- 
tainment begins — the  "review"  of  the  company  by  the 
President  (of  the  show,  not  of  the  republic)  ;  the  make- 
believe  bestowal  of  the  key  to  the  toril  (bull-pen)  upon 
the  alqnazil  (master  of  ceremonies),  signifying  official 
permission  to  begin  the  sport ;  the  courtesies  of  the 
toreadors  to  their  lady-loves  in  the  audience,  and  so  on. 
Our  first  act  began  with  the  blare  of  a  trumpet  and  the 
entrance  into  the  great  sand-strewn  arena  of  a  mild- 
looking  bull.  Having  just  escaped  from  solitary  con- 
finement, he  was  half  dazed  with  the  light  and  wholly 
bewildered  with  the  smart  of  a  wound  from  some  un- 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  61 

known  quarter — for  as  he  had  passed  under  the  arch 
leading  from  the  dark  passageway  from  the  toril,  a 
barbed  steel  point,  dipped  in  acid  and  with  a  bunch  of 
bright  ribbons  attached  had  been  jabbed  into  his 
shoulder,  partly  to  torment  him  and  partly  to  tell  the 
specators  from  what  hacienda  he  came,  there  being 
more  fights  in  some  breeds  than  in  others. 

Angered  by  the  sting  of  the  dart,  he  began  looking 
about  for  something  to  fight.  There  were  scattered 
around  the  arena,  close  to  the  high-board  fence  enclos- 
ing it,  a  number  of  picadors  mounted  on  lame,  halt  and 
blindfolded  caballos.  The  bull  picked  out  a  picador, 
charged  full  tilt  at  the  horse  and  was  met  with  a  stab 
of  the  long  lance  the  man  carried.  He  made  another 
lunge  at  the  horse  and  this  time  the  picador  fell  ofif  like 
a  toy  soldier,  as  the  horse  was  "done  for," 

White-trousered  attendants — called  "sabios  monos" 
(wise  monkeys)  because  they  give  the  performers 
pointers — rushed  to  the  aid  of  the  prostrate  man,  while 
the  capcadors  distracted  the  bull's  attention  by  flaunt- 
ing their  red  capes  before  his  eyes  until,  thinking  they 
had  some  connection  w'ith  his  distress,  he  made  a 
strike  with  his  horns  at  the  nearest  cape. 

The  capeadors  were  dressed  in  opera  houife  costumes 
of  gay  colors — silk  stockings  (or  maybe  mercerized), 
knee  breeches  of  silk  (or  near-silk),  velvet  bolero 
jacket  embroidered  with  tinsel  and  a  low-crowned  black 
hat.  The  red  capes  which  they  wore  into  the  arena 
were  taken  off,  to  be  used  in  the  performance.  The 
bull  was  coaxed  from  one  fluttering  cape  to  another, 
just  to  madden  him.  If  he  pursued  a  capeador  too 
closely,  the  nimble  fellow  capered  over  the  fence  into 
a  passageway  outside  the  arena,  and  the  horns  made 
splinters  in  the  boards. 


62  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

The  poor,  stupid  bull  could  easily  have  dispatched 
the  men,  as  they  carried  no  weapon,  but  mistaking  his 
real  enemy  he  never  seemed  to  regard  with  the  least 
suspicion  the  men  who  waved  the  tantalizing  capes. 

After  butting  the  fence,  the  infuriated  bull,  bellow- 
ing with  rage,  made  for  another  of  the  raw-boned 
horses,  sinking  his  horns  into  the  poor  old  bag  o'  bones 
and  ripping  it  open.  Down  went  the  horse,  with  the 
rider  pinned  under  him.  He  was  pulled  out,  mounted 
again  on  another  old  nag  and  the  battle  proceeded.  The 
bull  attacked  another  horse,  goring  him  fearfully,  but 
as  he  did  not  drop  he  was  ridden  around  the  ring  until 
he  did — and  here  detail  is  too  "puffickly  disgustful"  for 
words. 

With  three  or  four  horses  dead  or  dying,  the  specta- 
tors had  had  enough  of  this  kind  and  the  bugle  an- 
nounced the  banderiUeros.  These  gentlemen  of  the 
jaw-breaking  designation  carried  in  each  hand  a  wood- 
en stick  about  two  feet  long,  a  banderilla,  gayly  decor- 
ated with  tinsel  paper,  a  double-pointed  barb  in  the  end 
like  the  prongs  of  a  great  fish-hook,  ^^lthout  means  of 
defense,  the  bandy-ril-laro  (that's  easier)  walked  out 
in  front  of  the  bull,  tempted  him  with  the  pretty  sticks 
as  you  would  coax  a  child  with  candy,  and  when  the 
bull  approached  he  thrust  a  rosetted  dart  into  each 
shoulder,  where  they  hung  as  if  for  ornament,  the 
double  points  gouging  into  the  flesh  and  goading  the 
poor  bleeding  beast  into  the  desired  frenzy.  It  is  ''a 
rule  of  the  game"  that  the  bajideriHas  must  be  planted 
while  the  bull  is  in  action  and  on  the  shoulders,  but  not 
back  of  them.  As  the  bull  closes  his  eyes  when  he 
strikes,  the  skill  in  placing  the  darts  is  in  being  on  the 
alert  to  know  at  just  what  instant  the  attack  will  be 
made  and  in  Jack  being  nimble  and  Jack  being  quick 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  63 

in  jumping  away  when  he's  planted  the  stick.  There 
were  two  bandcriUcros  and  each  one  placed  two  sets  of 
the  cruel  ornaments,  four  hanging"  from  each  shoulder, 
a  crimson  stream  flowing  from  each  wound. 

Next  the  bugle  called  the  matador,  the  bright  par- 
ticular star  of  the  bull-ring,  to  kill  the  tortured  animal, 
who,  though  lacerated  almost  beyond  endurance,  was 
"still  in  the  ring,"  fighting  with  all  his  diminishing 
strength  and  unfailing  courage — and  by  this  time  we, 
who  had  until  now  held  our  breaths  with  fear  for  the 
toreadors,  would  have  liked  to  see  a  few  of  them  "get 
theirs." 

The  matador  flourished  his  plumed  hat  in  theatrical 
fashion  as  he  bowed  to  the  audience  and  the  president, 
exhibiting  as  he  bared  his  head  a  long  queue  of  plaited 
hair  wound  around  it.  This  coleta  is  a  mark  of  honor 
which  the  toreador  loses  if  he  is  ever  found  guilty  of 
any  offense  against  the  ethics  of  the  sport.  If  his 
career  is  above  reproach,  it  i  b  cut  oft'  "with  a  golden 
scissors"  when  he  retires  from  the  profession.  Ap- 
proaching the  bull,  he  drew  from  its  scabbard  a  long, 
keen-edged  sword.  In  his  left  hand  he  adjusted  on  a 
short  spiked  stick  a  iiiuleto,  the  "reg  rag"  of  the  bull- 
fight. Waving  this,  he  managed  to  get  the  bull,  as  he 
followed  the  rag,  into  position  for  a  right-handed  sword 
thrust.  It  was  a  sensational  moment — when  he  had 
succeeded  in  posing  the  bull  as  he  wanted  him,  as  a  pho- 
tographer would  do,  he  threw  his  full  weight  on  the 
sword,  driving  it  to  the  hilt  just  behind  the  bull's  horns. 
The  bull  staggered  an  instant  and  toppled  over  dead — 
"butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday."  The  sickening 
thud  was  drowned  in  a  burst  of  martial  music  and 
"loud  and  continued"  applause.  The  audience  show- 
ered cigars,  silver,  anything,  into  the  ring — even  their 


64 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


hats  and  canes,  which  were  afterward  returned  to  the 
owners.  When  a  matador  is  clumsy  there  are  hisses 
instead  of  cheers,  it  is  said,  and  in  that  case  an  at- 
tendant dispatches  the  bull  with  a  "stroke  of  mercy" 
dealt  with  a  cachctcro,  or  short  dagger. 


As  soon  as  the  bull  dropped,  teams  of  mules,  three 
abreast  with  traces  dangling,  galloped  into  the  ring- 
to  drag  out  the  dead  horses  and  the  bull.  Men  with 
brooms  and  shovels  and  weelbarrows  cleaned  up  the 
blood-stained  arena  and  in  another  few  moments  an- 
other fight  began. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  65 

This  is  not  a  thrillling  description — it  was  not  a 
thrilling  experience.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  this  at- 
tempt at  description  I  have  aided  a  confused  memory 
by  reference  to  the  guide-book,  which  accounts  for  all 
the  Spanish  words.  During  the  performance  I  was 
so  intent  upon  getting  kodak  snaps  that  I  really  saw 
the  bull-fight  in  minature  in  my  little  "bull's-eye," 
doubtless  remaining  in  my  seat  longer  for  that  reason 
than  I  should  otherwise  have  cared  to  do,  for  things 
"all  bluggy''  do  not  appeal  to  me  quite  as  they  did  to 
Toddie.  Mrs.  Brigham  went  out  "early  in  the  game." 
Mrs.  Newhall  remained  only  because  she  was  rooted 
with  horror. 

Considered  only  as  a  spectacle,  a  bull-fight  is  like  a 
great  open-air  grand  opera,  with  the  gay  costumes, 
the  Carmen  music,  the  grouping  of  striking  tableaux, 
the  "star"  who  might  be  Canpanari  singing  the  Can- 
zione  del  Toreador— ihe  bull-fight  being  a  reality  in- 
stead of  just  a  racket  behind  the  scenes.  But  it  is  a 
sight  no  one  would  wish  to  see  twice.  Without  doubt 
there  is  a  certain  brute  courage  displayed  by  the  torea- 
dors, but  it  is  brute  courage  and  the  whole  affair  is 
brutal  beyond  words. 

Many  of  the  20,000  seats  in  the  great  ampithea- 
tre  were  vacant  today  and  more  eyes  were  shaded 
from  the  sun  by  American  derby  hats  than  by  Mexi- 
can sombreros.  It  is  said  that  the  better  class  of  Mexi- 
cans do  not  as  a  rule  patronize  the  bull-fight,  but  there 
were  enough  of  the  Mexican  upper-ten  in  evidence  in 
today's  assemblage  to  prove  that  all  rules  have  ex- 
ceptions. 

The  afternoon's  program  was  not  half  over  when 
we  left,  feeling  like  accessories  to  a  cold-blooded 
crime.    Our  one  impulse  was  flight.    There  were  hun- 


66  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

dreds  of  vehicles  waiting  for  the  matinee  to  be  over — 
all  sorts,  tine  modern  carriages,  "hacks"  of  all  grades, 
automobiles  and  a  long  line  of  empty  street  cars.  We 
were  spotted  by  an  English-speaking  chauffeur  and  a 
lively  spin  in  a  big  motor-car  soon  put  the  bull-fight 
behind  us,  to  leave  only  a  "bad  taste  in  the  mouth." 

We  went  via  the  Paseo  de  la  Re  forma  out  to  the 
park  and  castle  of  Chapultepec,  two  miles  from  "The 
City."  This  boulevard  is  the  Champs  Elysees  of  Mex- 
ico, laid  out  at  the  suggestion  of  the  "unfortunate" 
Carlotta  (who  unfortunately  had  no  machine  to  drive 
over  it  in),  and  Sunday  afternoon  is  the  time  to  see  it, 
when  all  the  fine  turnouts  in  the  city  have  turned  out 
on  it. 

There  are  great  trees  along  either  side,  statues  and 
the  fragments  of  old  acjueducts.  The  first  statue  of 
Columbus  erected  on  the  continent  he  discovered  is  the 
most  notable. 

From  the  Paseo  there  is  a  fine  view  of  the  two  great 
snow-capped  volcanoes,  Popocatepetl  and  Ixtaccihuatl. 
the  former  nearly  2,000  feet  higher  than  the  highest 
peak  of  the  Alps,  the  latter  250  feet  higher  than 
Mount  Blanc  and  with  a  name  two  hundred  and  fifty 
times  harder  to  speak,  though  its  meaning  is  much 
the  same.  Ixtaccihuatl — "a  name  you  all  know  by 
sight  very  well,  which  no  one  can  speak  and  no  one  can 
spell" — is  from  the  Aztec  Yztac-cihuatl,  "white  wom- 
an"— the  form  of  the  mountain  is  supposed  to  be  like 
that  of  a  woman  stretched  on  a  bier  under  a  white  pall. 
Popoca-tepetl,  according  to  an  Aztec  legend,  was  the 
royal  lover  of  the  "white  woman" ;  the  name  means 
"smoky  mountain,"  the  volcano  having  been  in  a  state 
of  eruption  when  discovered — a  state  it  hasn't  been  in 
for  more  than  two  centuries  now.    The  twin  peaks  are 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  67 

twenty  miles  from  the  city  and  can  only  be  ascended  on 
foot,  so  we  were  very  well  satisfied  to  admire  them 
at  a  distance — a  distance  that  indeed  lent  enchantment, 
for  they  were  a  beautiful  sight,  with  their  white  crowns 
of  everlasting  snow  looming  majestically  against  the 
deep  blue  sky.  They  are  considered  the  two  finest 
snow  peaks  of  North  America. 

The  Castle  of  Chapultepec  stands  aloft  on  the  "Hill 
of  the  Grasshopper,"  which  is  what  the  name  signi- 
fies. The  traditional  (but  only  traditional)  castle  of 
Montezuma,  the  vice-regal  palace  for  successive  ad- 
ministrations, the  home  of  Maximilian  and  Carlotta, 
it  is  today  the  summer  residence  of  Porfirio  Diaz  and 
"Carmelito,  the  idol  of  Mexico" — the  Mexican  White 
House  and  the  seat  of  a  National  Military  Academy. 
A  grand  old  castle  it  is,  rambling  as  a  visionary  castle 
in  Spain,  having  had  many  additions  and  improvements 
during  its  history. 

Groves  of  old  moss-draped  cypress  trees  (alme- 
huetls)  surround  the  base  of  the  hill  and  overhang  the 
winding  driveways  that  lead  to  the  summit.  Many  of 
them  were  enjoying  a  green  old  age  in  the  days  of 
Montezuma.  Among  them  is  one  called  The  Tree  of 
Montezuma,  which  the  guide  pointed  out  and  told  us 
about,  as  merrily  we  rolled  along.  At  the  feet  of  this 
hoary  old  monarch  of  the  forest  the  old  monarch  of  the 
Aztecs  is  reported  as  having  wept  over  defeat.  We 
may  have  our  doubts  about  the  womanly  way  ''Angry 
Chief"  accepted  defeat,  but  we  cannot  doubt  the  an  ■ 
tiquity  of  the  tree,  since  it  measures  46  feet  in  circum- 
ference— but  whether  its  great  size  is  due  to  the  copi- 
ous watering  is  another  question,  for  it  is  really  not 
conspicuously  larger  than  its  fellows.  The  guide  con- 
tinued  to   narrate   how   the   tears   were   immortalized 


68  TJic  Tour  of  the  460. 

and  became  inexhavistible  springs,  from  which  the  wa- 
ter was  conveyed  to  Mexico  City  by  the  great  aque- 
ducts (tear  ducts,  maybe  he  said),  but  by  this  time  I 
didn't  beHcve  much  that  he  told.  Still,  his  words  were 
so  mingled  with  the  chug-chugging  of  the  machine  as 
it  panted  up  the  hill  that  perhaps  I  didn't  understand 
him  quite  perfectly.  I'll  give  Jiiiii  the  benefit  of  a 
doubt,  while  I'm  about  it. 

An  American  visitor  finds  a  page  of  his  own  coun- 
try's history  open  before  him  at  Chapultepec — a  battle 
monument  commemorates  the  gallant  defense  of  the  hill 
by  the  young  cadets  of  the  Academy  during  the  "North 
American  Invasion,"  and  the  view  from  the  terraces 
includes  the  battle  ground  of  Molino  del  Rev  and 
the  field  of  Cherubusco,  where  were  fought  the  "un- 
necessary battles"  of  the  "unjust  and  unholy"  war. 

To  a  student  of  ancient  history  there  are  many  pages 
to  review,  as  imagination  peoples  these  scenes  with 
shades  of  the  past — Indian  warriors,  Spanish  conquer- 
ors, barefooted  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  patriotic  soldiers 
and  invading  armies — all  have  played  their  parts  in  the 
drama  of  Chapultepec. 

Since  our  invasion  of  Chapultepec  was  unpremedi- 
tated, we  hadn't  the  necessary  permit  from  somebody 
or  other  to  enter  the  old  "palace  of  the  kings."  It  is 
said  to  be  very  elegant,  both  the  public  salons  and  the 
private  apartments  of  the  President. 

Everybody  in  Mexico  City  drives  out  to  Chapultepec 
on  Sunday  afternoons.  We  were  told  that  it  was  the 
proper  thing  for  tourists  to  hire  the  chairs  along  the 
driveways  and  watch  the  turnouts  go  by.  So  the  chauf- 
feur was  dismissed  and  we  "lined  up'"  with  other  sight- 
seers under  the  trees  near  the  band  pavilion. 

I've    seen    Derby   Day    parades,    circuses,    soldiers, 


TJie  Tour  of  the  400.  69 

Knights  Templar,  Fourth  o'  July,  Saint  Patrick's,  and 
what  not,  but  never  an^^thing  so  unique  as  this ve- 
hicles of  every  name,  nature  and  description  drove 
round  and  round  and  round  in  endless  procession,  re- 
peating the  circuit  of  the  drives  over  and  over.  A  shin- 
ing Victoria  with  clanking  chains  and  champing  steeds 
carrying  elegant  silk-hatted  seiiors  and  seiioras  of  de- 
gree, whose  splendid  Parisian  "habit"  was  costly  as 
the  purse  could  buy — sometimes  rich  and  always  gaudy 
— followed  pompously  along  behind  a  red,  blue,  or 
yellow-flag  "hack"  with  a  load  of  tourists  or  natives, 
the  old  nags  ambling  along  quite  unconscious  of  any 
disparity  between  their  appearance  and  that  of  the 
high-steppers  prancing  impatiently  behind  them — for 
on  this  occasion  every  horse  must  walk,  regardless  of 
his  speed  record.  Even  the  ambitious  auto  has  to  be 
patient  behind  some  sorry  old  Rosinante,  without  even 
having  the  satisfaction  of  honking  its  dissatisfaction. 

And  the  same  promiscuous  mingling  of  high  and  low 
saunters  along  the  walks.  Victor  Hugo  in  Lcs 
Miscrahlcs  says,  "if  crrare  is  human,  to  saunter  is 
Parisian."  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Hugo,  but  to  saun- 
ter is  Mexican.  And  it  does  not  take  a  close  observer 
like  Hugo  to  notice  another  characteristic  that  is 
Mexican,  and  that  is  the  way  the  women  paint.  If  to 
err  is  human,  to  paint  is  ^Mexican,  and  therein  does  the 
feminine  jMexican  err  egregiously.  She  makes  no 
pretense  at  nature-faking,  but  just  frankly  paints. 

A  real  stage  make-up  looks  strange  in  the  streets, 
to  say  the  least,  but  these  are  stage  people  to  Ameri- 
can eyes — the  pretty  Spanish  sefioritas,  with  their  black 
tresses  and  lace  mantillas,  the  humble  Indian  maidens 
in  their  graceful  blue  rehozos,  the  sandalled  peasant  in 
his  gaily-striped  zarape,  un  lagartijo    (the   dude)    in 


70  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

his  little  high-heeled  shoes,  tight  trousers,  embroid- 
ered bolero,  red  sash  and  great  ponderous  felt  som- 
brero, heavy  in  itself  and  loaded  with  silver,  all  make 
a  stage  ensemble  which,  with  the  band  playing  as  only 
a  Mexican  band  can  play,  gives  one  the  feeling  that  he 
is  himself  participating  in  some  great  carnival  of 
nations. 

Indeed,  from  the  Alexican  point  of  view,  the  Ameri- 
canos are  not  the  least  part  of  the  show.  They  eyed 
the  "400"  from  the  States  with  as  much  interest  as 
we  did  the  Mexican  "400"  and  seemed  to  think  our 
"costumes"  just  as  strange  as  theirs  seemed  to  us. 
Mrs.  Brigham  in  mauve  broadcloth  might  have  been 
a  wax  figure  in  a  window  on  the  Rue  de  hi  Paix  and 
Marion's  wealth  of  blonde  hair  is  very  conspicuous  in 
this  land  of  raven  locks. 

In  gloomy  contrast  to  this  gay  scene  was  a  funeral 
cortege  of  street  cars  that  passed  while  we  were 
waiting  for  a  Tacubaya  car  back  to  the  city.  Dolores 
Cemetery  is  just  beyond  Chapultepec,  and  there  seem 
to  be  funerals  any  time  of  the  day,  making  this  thor- 
oughfare a  veritable  Via  Dolorosa.  A  platform  car 
painted  black  and  capped  with  a  cross  carried  the  coffin 
on  a  bier  and  following  behind,  as  "trailers,"  were  two 
or  three  closed  cars  marked  "especiale,"  carrying  the 
mourners  in  this  second-class  funeral.  In  Mexico 
hearses  are  only  for  the  rich. 

We  decided  to  have  a  change  of  menu  for  dinner,  so 
at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Brown  we  took  a  change  of 
venue  to  the  Sanz — we  could  at  least  eat  there,  if 
their  rooms  zvere  all  engaged.  x\nd  blessed  is  he  who 
recommended  the  Sanz — he  is  hereby  tendered  our 
grateful  thanks,  tied  up  with  ribbon  and  offered  on  a 
tray  of  filigree  silver.    We  dined  sumptuously — all  but 


TJic  Tour  of  the  400.  71 

one.  He  wasn't  hungry,  after  all  that  lunch.  The 
rest  of  us  had  "table  d'hote  all  round,"  but  Mr.  Name- 
lessforevermore  ordered  ice  cream  and  sauterine !  he 
scorned  to  look  upon  the  wine  when  it  was  red,  like 
ours. 

After  dinner  we  of  the  weaker  sex  wxre  politely 
handed  into  a  carriage  and  the  driver  received  an  order 
to  deliver  us  at  the  Palacio,  prepaid.  But  it  came  to 
pass — to  that  pass — that  we  walked  home  after  all, 
for  the  driver,  who  had  lately  resigned  from  the  "wa- 
ter wagon,"  seemed  to  have  lost  his  compass,  and  when 
Mrs.  Newhall  (who  has  the  map  of  Mexico  photo- 
graphed on  her  eyelids  so  she  can  see  it  with  her  eyes 
closed  and  in  the  dark)  discovered  that  this  tipsy  indi- 
vidual was  contentedly  jogging  aivay  from  the  Palacio, 
'^he  paradoxically  called  him  up  short  and  then  called 
him  down  in  broken  Spanish  -but  for  once  words 
failed  her  and  it  ended  in  our  walking  several  more 
blocks  than  the  original  distance  from  Sanz  to  Palacio. 

While  waiting  for  our  wandering  sprites  to  return 
from  their  walk  we  beguiled  a  half  hour  in  Mrs.  Brig- 
ham's  room  admiring  the  wall  paper  (  !),  then  I  came 
to  my  room  and,  after  exercising  my  Spanish  for  the 
benefit  of  a  maid  whom  I  believe  knows  nothing  of  the 
language,  I  have  exercised  my  pencil  till  I  have  writer's 
cramp.  And  as  my  wanderer  has  returned,  hncnas 
no  dies. 

Hotel  Palacio. 

Feb.  19. 

The  English-reading  residents  of  Mexico  City  were 
informed  this  morning  through  the  press  that  Mr. 
Brown's  in  town,  also  that  he's  a  prominent  banker  of 


72  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Chicago.  It  also  appears  that  one  Mr.  Bringum  has 
brung  his  family  and  a  party  of  friends  to  Mexico,  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Newhall  are  taking  an  "outing"  (they 
are  such  shut-ins!),  and  that  Miss  Marion  Wellworth 
was  regarded  as  well  worth  bringing.  Yesterday's 
bull-fight  was  reported  as  a  good  one,  seven  bulls  and 
five  horses  having  been  numbered  with  the  slain  after 
the  battle.  Some  American  tourists  were  referred  to 
as  having  been  absorbed  with  photographs  during  the 
performance.  All  this  we  read  while  at  breakfast  at 
the  Palacio. 

We  ladies  knew  by  this  time  just  where  to  go  shop- 
ping, so  leaving  our  senors  to  shift  for  themselves,  W'e 
made  a  dash  for  the  big  joyeria  we  had  seen — which  is 
Spanish  for  jewelry  store.  We  looked  at  diamonds  the 
size  of  the  Koh-I-Noor,  examined  opals  and  turquoise 
with  the  air  of  connoisseurs — and  bought  a  spoon, 
which  the  salesman  handed  me  as  politely  as  if  it  were 
a  joyeria  forever  to  wait  upon  such  good  customers. 

The  streets  in  Mexico  City  have  a  new  name  for  each 
block.  If  it  happens  that  they  run  out  of  names,  as 
will  sometimes  occur  in  the  best  regulated  families  or 
cities,  they  number  the  blocks  first,  second,  third — as 
"la  San  Francisco,"  etc.  The  Calle  San  Francisco  is 
the  State  street  of  Mexico,  extending  from  the  Alame- 
da to  the  Plaza  ]\Iayor.  It,  like  many  of  the  streets,  is 
so  called  from  the  church  of  that  name  which  fronts 
upon  it.  These  sometimes  make  rather  shocking  names 
for  general  use — for  instance,  what  would  we  think  in 
Chicago  if  someone  should  ask,  "Where  shall  I  go  for 
the  Love  of  God?"  or,  "Where  'bouts  is  the  Holy 
Ghost?"  But  one  would  simply  be  referring  to  the 
Calle  Amor  dc  Dios.  Bsf'iritii  Sanfii.  or  something 
pqually  saintly. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  73 

All  the  streets  not  named  for  churches  have  names 
that  mean  something.  Calle  Cinco  de  Mayo  means  the 
fifth  of  May — the  date  of  a  battle  fought  not  in  this 
street,  as  one  might  suppose,  but  at  Puebla.  The  Calle 
de  Revillagigedo  was  named  in  honor  of  Don  Juan 
Vicente  de  Guemes  Pacheco  de  Padilla,  Conde  de 
Revillagigedo,  a  viceroy  who  won  fame  not  only  for 
his  collection  of  immediate  jewels  of  the  soul,  but  for 
the  good  work  he  did  in  improving  the  streets  of  the 
city.  Would  he  had  lived  in  Glencoe !  Before  his 
regime  Mexico  City  had  fitful  sidewalks  and  spasmodic 
pavements,  as  we  do.  Just  to  illustrate  the  peremptory 
methods  of  this  "terrible  man  with  the  terrible  name," 
it  is  said  that  one  night,  finding  that  this  particular 
calle  was  a  "blind  alley"  ending  in  a  cluster  of  hovels, 
he  ordered  that  a  wide  street  be  opened  in  time  for  him 
to  pass  through  it  on  his  way  to  mass  next  morning! 
And  it  was  done. 

A  stranger  could  do  nothing  here  without  a  map. 
Mrs.  Newhall,  having  studied  hers  so  religiously  (and 
it  is  good  pious  reading)  we  have  chosen  her  our  of- 
ficial (I  might  say  our  spiritual  and  temporal)  guide. 
We  have  also  constituted  her  our  official  interpreter, 
for  she  has  discovered  that  to  speak  Spanish  like  a 
native  one  need  only  to  add  idad,  cria  or  0  to  the  Eng- 
lish word.  A  milliner's  establishment  is  a  honneteria,  a 
porter  a  portero,  a  society  is  a  sociedad.  With  a  little 
practice  in  fitting  on  the  best-sounding  suffix  and  weav- 
ing the  words  together  with  a  fetching  little  coo  in 
one's  most  dulcet  tones,  one  has  Spanish  "on  the  tip 
of  the  tongue." 

To  be  sure,  in  most  of  the  stores  patronized  by 
Americans  there   are  English-speaking  salesmen,  but 


74  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

even  then  a  little  cooing  does  no  harm,  and  Mrs.  New- 
halleria  has  developed  such  a  capacidad  in  the  gentle  art 
of  persuasion  that  she  has  also  been  constituted  our 
officio  bargain  makero.  Even  the  guide-books  say 
"never  give  the  first  price  quoted.''  Of  course  the 
shop-keepers  have  not  become  "wise"  and  doubled 
their  prices ! 

At  some  of  the  stores  prices  are  "in  plain  figures" 
and  no  deviations  therefrom  are  made — this  for  the 
benefit  of  American  visitors.  But  deviations  are  the 
rule  in  our  favorite  shop,  a  place  called  "The  Hole  in 
the  Wall" — for  what  reason  nobody  knows,  unless  pos- 
sibly the  wall  itself — and  not  being  a  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  kind  of  a  wall  it  cannot  explain.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  the  only  "crannied  holes  or  chinks"  in 
that  wall  are  a  common  door  and  two  ordinary  win- 
dows "to  blink  through  with  mine  eyne." 

Once  inside  that  "Hole,"  one  almost  has  to  be 
drowned  out  like  a  gopher,  so  distracting  is  the  place. 
It  is  like  some  cave  wherein  old-time  Spanish  pirates 
secreted  their  spoil,  and  a  thirst  for  plunder  overcomes 
the  most  righteous  soul  who  enters  there.  The  Hole 
is  filled  with  everything  Mexican — blankets  and  scarfs, 
silver,  pottery,  drawnwork  and  jewels,  Spanish  laces 
and  antiques  and  curios  and  relics  from  every  place 
under  the  sun ;  and  under  the  tables  and  shelves  are 
heaps  of  dusty  old  brasses  and  copper  and  all  sorts  of 
contraptions  which  customers  are  permitted — nay,  ex- 
pected— to  haul  out,  clean  off  with  their  hankerchiefs 
or  gloves  and  buy  at  (in  the  end)  their  own  price.  To 
be  sure,  in  the  beginning  the  dealer  wouldn't  touch  a 
centavo  less  any  more  than  the  purchaser  would  give 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  75 

a  cent  more,  but  the  end  is  understood  from  the  first 
by  both  parties  to  the  transaction. 

"It  is  naught,  it  is  naught,  saith  the  buyer;  but  when  he 
hath   gone   his   way,   then   he   boasteth." 

It  is  fun  to  see  how  fast  one  can  make  money  by 
spending  it  in  Mexico — you  buy  something  for  sixty 
cents  and  give  the  salesman  a  five-dollar  gold  piece ; 
he  gives  back  nine  big  silver  dollars  and  a  handful  of 
small  change.  It  is  like  the  miracle  of  the  loaves  and 
fishes.  But  that  is  only  when  you  have  gold,  for  an 
American  silver  dollar  is  only  worth  ninety  cents 
"Mex."  But  even  then  an  accommodating  salesman 
will  "call  it  a  dollar"  (having  allowed  for  the  discount 
in  fixing  his  prices)  and  you  will  pay  for  a  "two-dollar 
Mex."  purchase  with  one  of  Uncle  Sam's  dollars.  We 
have  become  so  accustomed  to  dividing  by  two  in  our 
minds  that  if  someone  speaks  of  his  weight,  we  in- 
stinctively ask,  "150  Mex.?" 

We  met  our  men-folks  at  the  Sanz  for  luncheon  and 
sampled  some  of  the  Mexican  fruit.  One  of  the  wait- 
ers wrote  for  me  (in  a  most  legible  and  graceful  hand) 
the  names  of  some,  which  he  als.o  pronounced  for  us — 
the  chiriinoUo,  which  looks  like  a  little  green  water- 
melon and  has  a  mushy  pulp  and  the  flavor  of  raspber- 
ries ;  the  granadito,  a  little  egg-shaped,  orange-skinned 
fruit  with  an  interior  like  a  pomegranite — both  very 
delicious. 

We  spent  the  afternoon  speeding  in  an  automobile 
and  seeing  the  city.  Speeding,  by  the  way,  is  speed- 
ing in  Mexico,  and  if  you  are  foolish  enough  to  get  in 
front  of  a  "benzine  wagon"  it  is  your  fault  and  the 
merry  chug-chug  is  "not  liable."  And,  by  the  way, 
you'd  better  keep  off  the  railroads,  too,  for  if  you  get 


76  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

in  the  way  of  a  train  you  may  find  yourself  defendant 
in  an  action  for  trespass — supposing,  of  course,  the  in- 
cident terminates  in  your  favor. 

When  our  men  drove  up  to  the  curb  at  the  Hole, 
we  noticed  a  careworn  expression  on  the  usually  cheer- 
ful countenance  of  Fra  Benjamin — something  was 
surely  amiss,  but  what?  It  seems  he  had  been  trying 
to  raise  the  wherewithal  to  pay  for  Florocio's  drawn- 
work  and  turquoise  and  copper  on  some  worthless  pa- 
per known  as  travelers'  cheques,  which  he  had  been  as- 
sured could  be  converted  into  gold  anywhere  at  any 
time.  But  not  being  an  alchemist  nor  yet  possessing 
the  touch  of  Midas  he  was  forced  to  try  another  kind 
of  touch — and  touching  is  a  habit  to  which  he  is  not 
addicted.  We  all  began  to  sing,  "A-i-n'-t  it  funny, 
when-vou  look  for  money,  all  you  ^{?/-am  sv-vm-pa- 
thy?"' 

But  the  "400"  liad  not  only  sympathy,  but  "money 
to  burn,"  or  to  lend  (which  is  sometimes  the  same 
thing),  and  he  soon  cheered  up  and  was  as  rich  as  a 
steel  "magnet" — to  quote  our  youngest. 

The  first  place  we  visited  was  the  Thieves'  Market, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  National  Palace,  so-called  because 
it  was  once  a  rendezvous  for  lawless  characters  and  the 
place  where  they  disposed  of  their  stolen  goods.  There 
was  originally  a  building  there  which  was  a  pawnshop, 
called  "The  House  of  Inexhaustible  Treasure,"  but 
nowadays  the  place  is  a  market  consisting  of  booths 
made  of  matting  or  old  sheet  iron  or  anything  handy, 
and  the  inexhaustible  treasure  has  degenerated  into  an 
inexhaustible  collection  of  junk  which  a  self-respecting 
thief  would  scorn  to  touch.  It  is  a  sort  of  open-air 
rummage  sale  mostly  of  hardware  — old  saws  and 
"modern  instances"  of  mechanical  genius  in  the  way  of 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


77 


burglars'  kits  and  rat-traps.  There  are  antiques,  valu- 
able or  not,  and  curios  which  are  at  least  curious. 
There  are  old  books,  old  pictures  (leastwise  they  pass 
as  such),  old  brasses,  old  dishes,  old  furniture.  Occa- 
sionally there  is  a  rare  "find,"  but  for  the  most  part  the 


merchandise  is  not  of  much  intrinsic  value.  It  is  said 
that  a  Mexican  will  steal  anything — it  would  seem  that 
he  will  also  buy  anything,  for  one  cannot  conceive  any 
use  for  much  of  the  stuff  in  the  Thieves'  Alarket.  The 
place  is  well  worth  a  visit,  for  it  is  a  strange  sight — 


78  The  Tow  of  the  400. 

a  little  World's  Fair  village  of  rude  booths  in  an  in- 
closiirc  framed  with  buildings  as  picturesque  as  those 
of  the  "White  City."  The  people  are  always  pic- 
turesque and  at  no  place  more  so  than  here. 

Having  developed  a  mania  for  second-hand  curios, 
we  started  next  for  the  Monte  de  Piedad,  which  is  a 
national  pawnshop,  conducted  by  the  government,  but 
it  was  closed.  Why  a  pawn  shop  should  be  called  a 
"Mount  of  Piety"  I  cannot  say. 

Mexico  is  a  city  of  great  wealth  and  of  great  pov- 
erty, elbowing  each  other.  In  some  portions  of  the  city 
the  poverty,  if  not  so  picturesque,  would  be  too  loath- 
some to  be  interesting.  We  drove  through  some  of  the 
most  squalid  streets,  finding  an  occasional  historical 
landmark  in  some  old  building  forgetting  its  yesterdays 
as  it  stands  surrounded  by  the  miserable  hovels  of  the 
"civilization"  of  to-day. 

A  national  medical  college,  still  called  The  Inquisi- 
tion, was  one  of  these,  and  something  of  its  history  was 
given  to  us  in  snatches  from  the  front  seat  as  we  passed 
what  appeared  to  be  a  very  old  church.  Here  were 
held  the  deliberations  of  the  Tribunal  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion, an  institution  that  originated  with  the  good 
"Saint"  Dominick  in  1570  and  continued  a  reign  of 
terror  till  suppressed  in  181 3.  This  great  Christian 
Tribunal  had  but  one  charge — heresy ;  but  one  verdict 
— guilty ;  but  one  punishment — death  by  fire.  In  thi- 
building  poor  wretches  falling  under  the  ban  of  the 
church  were  tried  and  condemned  to  be  fried,  the 
actual  sacrifice  {auto  de  fc)  taking  place  on  a  stone 
platform  in  what  is  now  the  Alameda.  I  find  in  the 
guide-book  that  there  was  another  burning  place  "for 
minor  crimes  like  murder  and  highway  robbery"  at  an- 
other place.     One  feels  like  making  caustic  remarks 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  79 

about  these  good  old  days  of  religious  zeal  till  one 
happens  to  think  of  his  own  country's  history  of  the 
corresponding  period — of  the  heathenish  way  our  col- 
onists whipped  and  branded  and  be-eared  and  be-nosed 
and  otherwise  snubbed  the  Quakers,  and  hung  poor  old 
women  for  being  too  bewitching  and  a  few  other  little 
minor  crimes — then  the  dweller  in  a  house  of  crystal 
feels  like  keeping  his  caustic  remarks  to  himself.  And 
at  least  the  Spanish  "colonists"  in  Mexico  were  all  this 
time  building  churches  and  maintaining  missions  to 
convert  the  Indians. 

By  the  time  we  had  heard  the  story  of  the  auto  de  fv 
and  declared  it  a  burning  shame,  we  were  a  mile  be- 
yond the  place,  scooting  along  in  our  auto  de  gasoline, 
and  had  reached  the  historic  old  causeway  leading  out 
to  Gaudalupe,  passing  little  shrines  and  little  pulque 
joints  that  were  hobnobbing"  together  in  the  most  neigh- 
borly way,  and  donkeys  and  people  ditto,  the  donkeys 
laden  with  everything  marketable — coops  of  live  chick- 
ens, panniers  of  wood,  baskets  of  vegetables. 

At  the  time  of  The  Conquest,  when  Tenochtitlan 
was  a  Mexican  Venice,  these  old  causeways,  "two 
spears'  length  in  width,"  connected  the  city  with  the 
main  land.  Over  these  roads  came  Cortez  with  his 
army,  and  the  thrilling  horror  of  Waterloo  was  iden- 
tical with  the  disaster  that  occurred  in  the  fiercely  re- 
pelled attack  by  the  Spaniards,  many  of  whose  men 
and  horses  fell  through  broken  bridges  that  spanned 
the  gaps  in  the  causeway,  many  were  being  thus  cut 
off  from  retreat. 

In  after  years  these  old  Calrjodas  were  improved,  and 
one  of  the  two  leading  northward  was  made  a  paseo 
for  religious  processions,  with  the  stations  of  the  cross 
at   intervals.      This    is    now    the    rieht-of-wav   of   the 


80  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Vera  Cruz  railway.  It  was  along  the  other  that  we 
went  in  our  very  modern  vehicle.  I  wonder  what 
Cortez  would  think  of  a  "Mercedes"  of  to-dav ! 

Along  this  road  were  great  pepper  trees,  with  grace- 
ful drooping  boughs  and  scarlet  pendants — ofif  in  the 
distance  the  white  volcanoes — and  two  and  a  half  miles 
from  the  city  was  the  sanctuary  we  had  come  to  visit, 
the  church  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe.  This  is  the 
"national  shrine"  of  Mexico,  built  in  obedience  to  di- 
vine command,  according  to  a  legend  in  which  the 
Mexican  people  so  entirely  believe  that  it  has  become 
the  principal  article  of  faith  in  their  religion. 

Briefly  (and  though  I  must  refer  to  the  guide-book, 
I  will  avoid  following  the  text  as  much  as  possible)  the 
tradition  is  of  the  miraculous  appearance  of  the  Holy 
Virgin  to  a  pious  Indian,  Juan  Diego.  This  poor  In- 
dian, whose  "untutored  mind"  saw  God  in  clouds  and 
heard  him  in  the  wdnd  (as  some  poet  says),  saw  a  vi- 
sion of  the  "Queen  of  Heaven"  in  the  mountain  of 
Tepeyacac  one  morning  in  December.  1531.  Knowing 
he  was  on  his  way  to  mass  (the  good  Indians  were  not 
all  dead  ones  then),  the  lady  of  the  vision  asked  Juan 
to  tell  his  bishop  that  she  wished  him  to  build  a  church 
on  the  spot  upon  which  she  then  appeared.  The  In- 
dian delivered  the  message,  but  the  bishop  thought  it 
was  too  visionary.  Juan  returned,  found  the  lady 
waiting,  was  bidden  to  come  to  the  same  place  on  the 
following  day,  did  so  and  was  sent  again  to  the  in- 
credulous bishop  with  the  same  message.  This  time, 
impressed  with  the  earnestness  and  persistence  of 
Diego,  the  bishop  listened — still,  not  being  quite  sat- 
isfied with  the  truth  of  the  story  (coming  from  an  In- 
dian), he  demanded  proof  of  the  reality  of  the  vision, 
secretly  sending  two  of  his  servants  to  "shadow"  the 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  81 

man.  But  lo !  the  poor  Indian  became  invisible  and  his 
meeting  with  the  vision  could  not  be  reported.  When 
he  told  the  lady  of  his  bishop's  continued  lack  of  faith, 
she  promised  to  meet  Juan  the  next  day,  with  a  token 
for  the  bishop.  When  Juan  reached  home  he  found  an 
uncle  heap  sick  with  cocolixtU — symptoms  very  alarm- 
ing. The  next  day,  so  swift  was  this  dread  disease,  it 
was  believed  the  patient  could  not  recover,  and  fearing 
he  w^ould  die  unconfessed  Juan  decided  to  give  up 
his  appointment,  the  sooner  to  fetch  a  priest.  To  avoid 
meeting  the  vision  he  took  a  different  way  to  Tlaltelolco 
— but  she  appeared  just  the  same,  and  insisting  that 
the  uncle  was  well,  bade  Juan  go  again  to  the  bishop. 
(There  is  a  good  deal  of  repetition  in  this  story.) 
However,  to  vary  the  monotony,  this  time  the  'nes- 
senger  was  told  to  gather  some  flowers,  as  the  desired 
token  for  the  bishop,  and  at  that  moment  some  beauti- 
ful roses  bloomed  in  the  barren  rocks — December  12th. 
"With  trembling  fingers"  Juan  picked  them,  putting 
them  into  his  tilma,  a  cloak  made  from  fibre  of  the 
maguey.  When  the  wonderful  roses  were  dropped  at 
the  feet  of  the  astonished  bishop,  a  life-sized  portrait 
of  the  lady  was  found  photographed  in  beautiful  colors 
on  the  tiUna.  Of  course  the  bishop  was  at  last  con- 
vinced. When  the  Indian  returned  home  he  found 
his  uncle  had  recovered  his  normal  temperature  and 
pulse  at  the  precise  moment  that  he  had  been  declared 
well — and  he  lived  happily  ever  after. 

The  story  of  the  miracle  spread,  the  people  believed 
and  within  two  weeks  a  chapel  was  built  on  the  spot 
where  the  vision  first  appeared,  and  the  sacred  tilma 
was  enshrined  therein.  Here  Juan  Diego  was  after- 
ward buried  beneath  the  original  altar. 

Now,  it  may  be  that  in  my  effort  to  avoid  the  possi- 


82  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

ble  charge  of  plagiarism  I  have  written  my  version  (or 
perversion)  of  the  story  in  too  hght  a  vein.  It  really 
has  not  been  my  intention  to  discredit  it.  "God  moves 
in  a  mysterious  way  his  wonders  to  perform."  To  me 
this  "wonder"  is  not  in  the  least  incredible,  for  we  must 
believe  that  to  the  great  Inhnity  that  created  a  uni- 
verse in  which  our  solar  system  is  but  an  incident  "all 
things  are  possible."  Still,  it  occurs  to  my  finite  mind 
that  the  building  of  this  temple  might  have  been  ex- 
pedited had  the  vision  appeared  to  the  bishop  directly, 
omitting  the  Indian — or  why  not  have  caused  the 
church,  instead  of  just  flowers,  to  spring  from  the 
rocks?  And  the  vision  might  have  appeared  above  the 
altar  to  be  worshiped  instead  of  her  picture — but  any- 
way she  didn't. 

However,  far  be  it  from  me  to  repudiate  what  great- 
er men  have  accepted.  For  the  miracle  has  the  "sanc- 
tion" of  Rome,  the  feast  of  the  12th  of  December  hav- 
ing been  established  by  Pope  Benedict  XIV  in  1754.  At 
that  time  the  "Mother  of  the  Mexicans"  had  been  wor- 
shipped for  more  than  two  centuries,  but  it  was  not 
until  after  her  power  was  believed  to  have  overcome 
a  siege  of  matlan.'^ahuatl  (an  ancient  affectation  of  the 
word  "plague")  that  she  was  officially  proclaimed 
Patroness  and  Protectress  of  New  Spain, 

During  all  this  time  the  sacred  tilnia  has  been  pre- 
served first  in  one  church  and  then  another  on  the  same 
spot,  except  for  a  brief  period  when  it  was  taken  to 
Mexico  City  as  a  protection  during  an  inundation.  The 
present  great  temple  was  dedicated  in  1709,  but  only 
completed  in  1896.  It  is  of  white  stone,  its  most  inter- 
esting exterior  feature  being  reliefs  in  sculpture  above 
the  main  entrance,  descriptive  of  the  story  of  the  mira- 
cle.    The  interior  is  a  lavish  display  of  decoration,  a 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  83 

deep  blue  vaulted  roof,  studded  with  big  gilded  stars, 
being  very  striking.  The  walls  are  covered  with  paint- 
ings representing  the  various  scenes  of  the  miracle. 
There  are  priceless  silver  railings  and  the  magnificent 
high  altar  of  Carara  marble  contains  in  a  frame  the 
treasured  tilma.  Over  this  is  a  crown  of  jewels  of 
fabulous  value,  each  separate  jewel  (and  it  is  said  there 
are  more  gems  than  there  are  stars  in  the  firmament — 
not  meaning  the  above-mentioned  blue  sky)  having 
been  contributed  by  the  women  of  Mexico  in  individual 
gifts.  The  workmanship  alone  is  said  to  have  cost 
thirty  thousand  dollars  (Mex.,  I  suppose).  This 
crown  was  placed  over  the  tilma  only  ten  years  ago, 
which  is  substantial  evidence  that  the  belief  in  the 
legend  continues. 

Though  the  tilma  has  now  been  preserved  for  nearly 
four  hundred  years,  it  still  retains  its  color  and  it  is 
claimed  that  experts  who  have  examined  it  have  de- 
clared that  it  was  not  painted  in  any  known  vehicle  and 
that  it  was  not  printed  by  any  known  process.* 

There  were  groups  of  people  scattered  through  the 
church,  bowed  in  adoration  before  the  beloved  image : 
solitary  figures  knelt  at  the  different  shrines,  others 
were  passing  in  and  out,  some  bearing  lighted  candles 
and  making  signs  on  their  own  foreheads  and  on  those 
of  their  companions.  Priests  were  hearing  confessions 
from  kneeling  penitents,  two  to  a  priest  in  one  case,  one 
on  each  side  of  the  confessional  box.     Put  together, 

[*Charles  F.  Liimmis  says  of  "the  famous  myth  of  tlii.' 
Virgin  of  Guadalupe":  "It  sprang  from  a  comedy  writtenby 
Antonio  Valerianc,  for  the  representation  of  which  the  Indian 
Marcos  painted  upon  a  blanket  what  is  now  the  'miraculous 
image.'  The  episode  is  a  magnificent  type  of  the  origin  and 
spread  of  primitive  hero-myths."] 


84  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

their  doubled  troubles  ought  to  have  been  sufficiently 
interesting  to  keep  him  awake. 

There  is  a  cluster  of  chapels  and  convents  around  the 
big  basilica.  Up  on  a  hill,  on  the  spot  where  the  roses 
bloomed,  is  the  Capella  del  Cerrito  ("chapel  of  the  lit- 
tle hill").  To  this  we  did  not  go,  owing  to  a  lack  of 
energy  on  the  part  of  some  of  us.  On  the  spot  hal- 
lowed by  the  last  appearance  of  the  Virgin  a  spring  of 
water  gushed  from  the  rocks.  Over  this  fountain  is 
the  circular  tile-domed  Capella  del  Pocito  ("chapel  of 
the  well").  The  well  is  in  an  ante-room  of  the  chapel 
and  is  covered  with  a  grating  of  wrought  iron,  to 
which  is  attached  a  box  w-ith  a  slot,  into  which  you  can 
drop  something  if  you  feel  disposed.  And  if  you  feel 
indisposed  you  can  drink  of  the  healing  water,  which 
is  believed  to  be  a  panacea  for  all  human  ills — and  said 
to  be  "brackish."  It  was  "deeply,  darkly,  beautifully 
blue,"  Hke  rinsing  water,  and  the  rust-covered  cup  that 
hung  in  the  well  was  deeply,  darkly,  beautifully  sug- 
gestive of  the  un rinsed  Diegos  continually  taking  the 
cure,  so  as  none  of  us  were  suffering  with  cocoUxtli  or 
matlanzahiiatl.  or  even  plain  thirst  (except  after 
righteousness — and  sightseeing),  we  passed  out  into 
the  chapel,  where  a  most  extraordinary  collection  of 
pictures  and  painted  images  suggested  (unintention- 
ally) the  comic  side  of  the  life  of  San  Diego.  Then 
we  passed  out  again  into  the  ante-room  del  Pocito, 
where  a  most  extraordinary  collection  of  post  cards, 
paper  weights  and  rosaries  suggested  (unintentionally) 
the  teaching  of  the  gospel  in  regard  to  the  purging  of 
temples — the  overthrowing  of  the  "tables  of  the  money- 
changers and  the  seats  of  them  that  sold" — post 
cards  ? 

I  sincerely  hope  my  frivolous  comments  do  not  make 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  85 

me  appear  as  remaining  to  scoff  where  I  should  come 
to  pra}' — really,  my  bump  of  veneration  is  well  devel- 
oped, but  I  should  be  a  Pharisee  and  a  hypocrite  in- 
stead of  the  truthful  scribe  I  am  if  I  pretended  to  feel 
awe  for  things  that  only  belittle  a  Deity  whose  power 
and  glor}'  are  forever  and  ever. 

However,  it's  bad  enough  to  be  descriptively  dragged 
to  church,  without  being  forced  to  listen  to  a  poor 
sermon,  so  let  us  leave  the  church  and  join  the  groups 
of  people  in  the  plaza  outside. 

And  here  is  where  the  color-love  of  the  Mexican  peo- 
ple runs  riot.  Everywhere  were  the  typical  scenes 
which  make  such  fine  studies  for  a  painter — venders  of 
tortillas,  frijoles  and  tamalcs,  sugar-cane  sticks  (which 
the  Mexicans  chew),  and  all  the  strange  native  fruits 
and  vegetables  had  their  commodities  spread  out  in  lit- 
tle heaps  on  matting,  sometimes  under  awnings,  some- 
times only  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  a  wall.  ]\Iy  en- 
thusiasm for  the  picturesque  is  always  at  par,  but  such 
pictures  as  these  would  make  a  clam  enthuse. 

There  were  booths  where  women  sat  surrounded  by 
the  primitive  pottery,  feeding  their  babies  at  the  primi- 
tive font  of  nature.  There  were  groups  of  women 
squatting  around  a  rude  sort  of  grill,  cooking  some- 
thing you  could  buy  if  you  were  tempted;  others  frying 
some  unwholesome  looking  cakes  on  most  unsanitary 
griddles.  Grouped  against  the  soft  gray  tones  of  the 
stone  buildings,  they  formed  pictures  that  just  begged 
for  palette  and  canvas.  I  didn't  even  have  my  camera 
along. 

We  have  not  attempted  any  of  the  cookery  which  we 
are  continually  urged  to  try — perhaps  the  ^Mexican  deli- 
cacies are  like  the  singed  cat,  "better'n  they  look."  All 
I  can  sav  is  that  their  looks  are  "agin  'em."     I  know 


86  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

what  some  of  them  are  made  of— guess  I  know  beans 
— that's  frijolcs.  Tortillas  are  loaves  of  unleav- 
ened bread  made  of  ground  corn.  Taiiialcs,  'most 
everybody  knows,  are  chicken-meat,  corn,  tomato  cat- 
sup and  the  Spanish  rodicr  pimicntos  boiled  in  corn- 
husks  previously  padded  with  corn-meal  mush.  Chili 
con  came  is  chilli  with  meat. 

Near  the  group  of  churches  are  many  sloppy  pulque 
shops.  It  is  certainly  true  in  Mexico  that  "wherever 
God  erects  a  house  of  prayer"  the  devil  "always  builds 
a  chapel"  in  the  form  of  a  piilqueria  there — "for  the 
debbil's  always  lurkin'  'round  just  to  catch  the  kind 
that  never  hasn't  nothin'  else  to  do."  A  glimpse  into 
a  doorway  is  disgusting — half-drunken  women  quar- 
reling over  the  cup  that  cheers  not  but  inebriates,  men 
taking  the  flowing  bowl  literally  and  children  "lurkin' 
'round."  Pulque  is  a  milk-and-watery  liquid  that  looks 
like  koumiss  and  smells  sour — our  men  were  not 
tempted. 

We  peeped  into  the  windows  of  a  school  room  where 
a  lot  of  funny  little  Indians  were  studying  their  les- 
sons, with  one  black-eyed  youngster  perched  up  in 
front  on  the  dunce  stool.  I  suppose  the  poor  little  kid 
couldn't  mention  the  Mexican  rulers  in  their  order — 
Xolotl,  Nopaltzin,  Quinatzin,  Tecotlalla.  Ixlilochtli. 
Netzahuatcoyotl,  Nezhualpilla,  Cacamatzin.  Cuitcuit- 
catzin,  Coanacotzin,  and  so  on.  Or  perhaps  he  missed 
spelling  some  little  word  like  Tetlepanquetzaltzin — no 
wonder  Cortez  thought  it  best  to  hang  that  last  fel- 
low! It  is  perfectly  plain  why  young  Americans  are 
not  taught  much  Mexican  history.  English  is  com- 
pulsorv  in  Mexican  schools.  It's  well  for  our  boys  and 
girls  that  Uncle  Sam  doesn't  care  to  return  the  com- 
pliment!    About  all  we  learned  of  IMexico  in  school 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  87 

was  when  it  was  discovered  and  about  the  boundary 
quarrel  with  Uncle  Sam — the  war  which  was  "settled" 
by  the  document  signed  in  this  very  ])lace,  the  treaty 
of  Guadalupe-Hidalgo. 

We  bought  some  little  pieces  of  the*pottery  made  in 
Guadalupe — each  district  in  Mexico  has  a  different  va- 
riety, some  with  better  glaze  than  others,  some  of  more 
durable  quality,  some  of  more  artistic  shape  or  decora- 
tion. It  is  used  by  the  poorer  class  of  people  for  all 
household  purposes,  and  the  best  is  very  cheap.  I 
bought  some  pieces  at  the  "Hole"  which  we  greatly 
admired  for  their  quaint  shapes  and  queer  colors  and 
designs,  the  most  expensive  not  being  more  than 
seventy-five  cents  "Mex." — half  that  in  our  money.  A 
very  much  prized  olla  was  thirty-five  "Mex." 

The  feature  of  Mexico  City  that  strikes  a  foreigner 
most  forcibly  is  the  primitive  life  going  on  in  so  great 
a  metropolis.  The  character  of  the  country  accounts 
easily  for  the  lack  of  advancement  in  the  rural  dis- 
tricts, but  to  see  people  existing  in  aboriginal  simplic- 
ity within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  most  modern  ele- 
gance is  incomprehensible.  The  mass  of  native  Mexi- 
cans live  in  no  greater  comfort  than  in  the  old  tribal 
or  even-  prehistoric  times.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  this 
condition  are  the  ancient  remains  of  magnificent 
achievements  in  building  and  in  arts  and  crafts — struc- 
tures made  while  our  forefathers  were  building  log 
cabins,  filled  with  treasures  of  the  most  skillful  work- 
manship. One  naturally  asks.  Why  did  Christianity 
prosper  in  our  part  of  the  continent  and  not  here? 
And  it  seems  as  if  the  answer  to  the  question  would 
justify  the  subjugation  rather  than  the  "civilization" 
of  the  Indian.  Still,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  na- 
tives, perhaps  they  are  as  well  off  in  their  present 


88  TJie  Tour  of  the  400. 

condition  of  poverty  and  ignorance  as  they  would  be  in 
the  condition  of  extermination  at  present  enjoyed  by 
most  of  the  northern  tribes !  And  after  all,,  what's  the 
odds  so  long  as  you're  hapi)y?  Their  wants  are  few — 
if  their  little  is  eiK)ugh,  they  are  as  rich  as  their  betters 
and  freer  from  care.  And  we  must  not  forget  that 
from  the  ranks  of  the  native  Mexican  Indians  have 
risen  many  able  and  scholarly  men,  one  ''shining  ex- 
ample" at  present  occupying  the  presidential  chair.  And 
what  would  we  think  of  Sitting  Bull,  for  instance,  a-sit- 
ting  in  such  a  seat ! 

During  our  whirl  around  the  city  we  stopped  at  sev- 
eral dry  goods  emporiums  that  were  strictly  of  the  peo- 
ple, by  the  people  and  for  the  people.  Our  guide,  who 
had  heard  us  express  a  yearning  for  zarapes,  thought 
he  could  buy  them  to  advantage  for  us  in  these  places, 
where  the  merchants  had  not  learned  to  "do"  the 
American.  This  quest  for  bargains  gave  us  some  in- 
teresting bits  of  interiors  that  we  should  not  otherwise 
have  seen,  but  we  weren't  looking  for  that  grade  of 
blankets.  So  to  the  better  shops  in  the  portalcs  around 
the  Zocolo  Mrs.  Xewhall  and  I  wended  our  way  after 
the  long  ride,  and  while  the  rest  were  resting  at  the 
hotel,  we  dazzled  our  eyes  with  literal  heaps  of  gor- 
geous colors,  and  after  seeing  multitudes  of  prismatic 
sins  and  bales  and  bales  of  things  of  beauty  we  event- 
ually found  something  that  satisfied  our  philharmonic 
souls  and  a  ''deal"  was  negotiated. 

I  came  to  my  room  and  like  the  good  little  Curly 
Locks  that  I  am  not,  sat  on  a  cushion  and  sewed  a  fine 
seam,  thereby  closing  up  a  gap  in  my  skirt,  made  by  a 
nail  I  met  at  the  bull-fight.  Then  as  a  reward  of  my 
industry  I  "feasted  on  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream." 
We   dined  at   the    Sanz   and   the   berries — well,    God 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  89 

doubtless  might  have  made  better  but  He  doubtless 
never  did.  They  were  very  different  from  the  half-ripe 
February  berries  of  Chicago  markets. 

During  the  walk  back  to  the  Palacio  we  passed  sev- 
eral notable  buildings  with  which  we  have  become  fa- 
miliar in  our  frequent  passings  to  and  fro  between  our 
divided  headquarters. 

One  of  these  is  the  old  church  of  San  Francisco, 
which  is  all  that  remains  of  the  old  monastery  of  Santa 
Brigida,  the  most  important  of  the  missions  which 
laid  the  foundation  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  New 
Spain.  From  this  convent  missionaries  went  to 
all  parts  of  the  country  and  the  work  of  the  monastery 
was  closely  connected  with  the  political  history  of  the 
country.  At  one  time  there  were  seven  different 
churches  constituting  the  mission,  and  the  order  was 
possessed  of  great  wealth.  But  all  that  remains  today 
is  the  old  buildings  with  the  solid  front  of  sclupture, 
on  1st  San  Francisco  street. 

The  interior  has  been  despoiled  of  all  its  treasures, 
until  aside  from  its  tombs,  it  is  only  "a  horror  of  white- 
wash and  desolation."  Cortez  gave  the  land  on  which 
the  church  was  built  and  provided  the  building  fund. 
Here  he  heard  mass  from  the  altar  under  which  his 
bones  were  afterward  entombed — for  a  while.  He 
seemed  to  have  felt  it  in  his  bones  that  there  would  be 
strife  over  his  mortuary  remains,  and  sure  enough  he 
was  buried  in  all  six  times.  In  his  will  he  directed  that 
if  he  died  in  Spain  his  body  should  after  ten  years  be 
taken  to  Mexico.  This  was  done,  but  there  was  no  rest 
for  the  wicked  in  Mexico.  His  first  grave  in  the  land 
he  conquered  was  in  Texcoco,  where  he  stayed  seventy- 
two  years.  Then  he  lay  a-mouldering  in  this  Church 
of  San  Francisco  one    hundred    and    sixty-five   years, 


90  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

was  preserved  in  a  mausoleum  in  the  Church  of 
years,  was  preserved  in  a  mousoleum  in  the  Church  of 
Jesus  Xazareno  thirty  years  and  hidden  from  the  revo- 
lutionists in  some  secret  spot  in  the  same  church  a  few 
years  more,  till  at  last  they  secretly  shipped  him  off  to 
Italy  and  interred  him  for  the  sixth  time — let  us  hope 
he  requiescats  i)i  pace  at  last.  Whatever  eventful  life 
he  led,  he  has  certainly  had  an  eventful  after  life.  That 
last  was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

The  first  Emperor  of  Mexico,  Iturbide.  is  still 
buried  in  this  church.  Here  Carlotta  prayed.  Since 
i860  the  church  has  been  a  Protestant  cathedral,  the 
property  has  been  divided,  streets  opened  through  it  and 
at  present  a  livery  stable  occupies  the  old  refectory  and 
the  Hotel  Jardin  occupies  the  infirmary  and  lodging 
house. 

The  Iturbide  Hotel,  so  called  because  it  was  occu- 
pied as  a  palace  during  that  Emperor's  brief  reign, 
was  also  built  on  lands  that  once  belonged  to  the  con- 
vent of  Santa  Brigida.  Since  1855  it  has  been  the 
best  and  is  today  the  best  known  hotel  in  Mexico.  It 
is  one  of  the  finest  old  buildings,  its  patio  opening 
on  four  streets,  the  front  one  being  1st  San  Francisco. 
A  venerable-looking  structure  it  is.  massive  and  with 
old  carving  in  the  stone.  The  coat  of  arms  of  Iturbide 
is  over  the  door  and  an  atmosphere  of  past  grandeur 
is  felt  when  one  steps  inside  the  great  portal,  ^^^e 
have  used  the  passage  ways  frequently  as  a  short  cut 
to  the  "Hole"  in  Gante  street. 

Another  early  eighteenth-century  building  that  has 
attracted  our  attention  is  the  famous  Casa  dc  Azulejos, 
or  House  of  Tiles — -a  building  covered  entirely  with 
bright  colored,  modern  looking  tiles.  It  is  now  the 
seat  (should  I  say?)  of  the  Jockey  Club. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  91 

A  landmark  by  which  we  find  the  Palacio  is  another 
old  church,  with  a  little  jardin  at  the  side,  on  the  cor- 
ner of  3a  San  Francisco  and  Calle  San  Jose  Real — a 
sixteenth-century  Jesuit  mission  called  La  Profesa  for 
short — La  Casa  Profesa  de  la  Campania  de  Jesus  is 
its  full  title. 

What  a  city  of  churches  this  is.  We  were  told  that 
even  the  calaboco  is  an  ex-church.  We  shall  probably 
not  visit  the  Calabozo  if  our  good  behavior  con- 
tinues. 

Our  young  ladies  have  been  much  interested  in  the 
little  casement  window-balconies  on  the  Mexican  resi- 
dences. They  are  heavily  grated  like  a  cage  and  per- 
haps it  is  for  this  reason  that  the  custom  of  courting 
a  la  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  called  "playing  bear" — Jia- 
ciendo  del  oso,  in  Spanish.  But,  unlike  the  Shaks- 
perian  lovers,  the  Mexican  "bears"  are  barred  from 
the  privilege  of  hugging.  In  this  peculiar  wooing  the 
lover  must  behave  like  a  bear  a  year  or  two,  then  if 
he  can  bear  it  that  long  he  may  call  on  the  lady — with 
a  chaperon  present.  After  all,  it's  only  a  matter  of 
education — what  do  you  suppose  the  Alexican  senorita 
would  think  of  her  sister  from  the  States  should  she 
meet  her  on  the  street  "playing  bear"  with  her  Teddy 
and  her  beau  ? 

My  bear  has  finished  his  daily  box  of  cigars.  The 
room  is  fragrant  with  tobacos  exquisites.  It  is  a  won- 
der we  are  not  turned  into  herrings.  He  smokes  a 
negro  down  here  with  as  little  efifect  as  he  feels  from  a 
"mild,"  up  north.  Says  it's  the  air.  And  he  smokes  a 
"twenty-five-cent  straight"  Bscepcionale  with  prac- 
tically no  pecuniary  effect — it  costs  seven  or  eight  cents 
and  smokes  like  sixtv. 


92  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

En  route. 

February  i9. 

The  Brownidads  were  the  first  ones  astir  for  once. 
We  went  out  and  bought  fihiis  before  anybody  else 
came  dow^n.  Then  after  scenting  a  few  near-by  res- 
taurants we  all  followed  the  old  trail  to  the  Sanz  for 
breakfast. 

Then  we  ladies  took  our  loves  to  the  Alamo — or  the 
Alameda,  whichever  you  please — there  is  one  in  every 
town  in  Mexico.  Then  we  found  a  phonograph  hos- 
pital, for  the  Victor  was  suffering  with  bronchitis. 
Mr.  Brown  asked  the  interne  in  charge  if  he  would 
send  a  specialist  down  to  the  car  to  examine  the  pa- 
tient and  remove  the  larynx  or  do  something.  Oh, 
they  couldn't  think  of  taking  surgical  instruments  'way 
down  to  the  station.  Well,  would  they  get  a  cab  and 
bring  the  invalid  to  the  doctor?  No,  the  expert 
laryngotomist  was  out  on  a  case  and  wouldn't  be  in  till 
mafiana.  Just  then  he  came  in.  He  was  consulted. 
Why,  most  likely  there  was  something  broken  and  they 
hadn't  the  necessary  part  to  replace  it.  Finally,  when 
we  insisted  that  there  was  probably  only  a  little  dust 
in  the  wind  pipe,  they  agreed  to  "see,"  but  it  would  be 
pretty  expensive.  After  we  had  hanged  the  expense 
and  expressed  ourselves  thoroughly  on  the  subject  of 
Mexican  business  methods,  they  decided  to  go  after 
the  machine. 

A  final  raid  on  the  Hole  in  the  Wall  resulted  in  the 
delivery  at  the  Palacio  of  a  wagon-load  of  pottery  and 
brass,  after  which  we  met  our  sefiors  for  luncheon  at 
the  usual  trysting  place. 

Then  they  took  us  to  the  Mexico  School  of  Mines, 
La  Mineria.     This  is  one  of  Mexico's  fine  buildings, 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  93 

erected  in  1777,  but  looking  very  modern,  with  massive 
stone  stairways  leading  out  of  the  large  stone-paved 
patio  to  galleries  with  heavy  stone  columns.  As  the 
exhibition  rooms  were  closed  we  failed  to  see  the  fine 
collection  of  minerals  it  is  said  to  contain,  but  we  felt 
repaid  for  the  visit  in  seeing  the  building. 

Just  outside  the  college  are  three  large  meteoralites 
that  have  been  found  in  Mexico — the  largest  weighed 
14,142  kilos.  That  "figures  up"  to  fifteen  and  a  half 
tons  plus.  By  way  of  comparison,  the  one  in  the  Smith- 
sonian Institute  in  Washington,  considered  very  won- 
derful, weighs  seven  tons,  while  the  one  at  Yale  Col- 
lege weighs  less  than  one  ton.  I  am  certainly  glad  it 
does  not  hail  these  big  stones  often — even  a  gentle 
meteoric  shower  would  be  rather  unpleasant,  I  should 
think — worse  than  raining  pitchforks. 

A  few  drops  of  rain  just  then  looked  ominous  and 
we  hurriedly  hailed  a  street  car,  guessing  at  the  right 
direction  for  the  National  Museum,  but  we  only  rode 
a  few  blocks,  for  two  reasons — one  was  we  changed 
our  minds  about  going  to  the  museum,  and  the  other 
because  it  stopped  raining  and  the  streets  are  much 
more  interesting  when  one  walks. 

Finally  the  party  divided  into  brethren  and  sisters, 
and  while  the  brethren  went  to  call  on  the  Vice-Presi- 
dent we  sisters,  drawn  as  by  a  magnet  to  that  same 
old  block  in  Gante  street,  shopped  till  we  could  shop 
no  more,  but  must  go  back  to  the  hotel  to  pack  up. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  we  should  all  gather  at 
the  Palacio  at  5  :45,  ready  to  start  at  once  for  the  car 
for  dinner.  We  ladies  ''got  our  clothes  upon  our 
backs — got  our  trunks  and  satchels  packed" — and 
waited.     No  men — worse  yet,  owing  to  the  laundry 


94  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

man's  unfeeling  plans,  not  one  word  had  yet  been 
heard  from  the  Ozark's  missing  "laundry." 

Six  o'clock  arrived — no  men,  no  laundry,  and  worst 
of  all,  no  baggage-man  to  take  the  trunks  to  the  sta- 
tion. 

6:15 — the  men  arrive.  I  am  unceremoniously 
bundled  into  the  carriage  in  which  the  men  arrive, 
together  with  my  spouse,  three  suit-cases,  an  over- 
coat, an  umbrella,  a  basket  of  crockery,  a  water  jug, 
the  talking  machine  box  and  its  big  brass  horn,  and 
my  hand  bag.  We  drove  off  looking  like  the  night 
before  Christmas,  Santa  Claus  disguised  in  a  big  som- 
brero and  zarape. 

We  called  at  The  Sanz  for  the  last  mail  and  there 
added  to  our  equipment  a  bundle  of  violets  made  up 
into  a  huge  nosegay  as  big  as  a  washtub.  Then  on  to 
the  Buena  Vista  station  at  a  lively  trot. 

Arriving  there,  nobody  knew  where  to  take  us  to 
the  car  and,  this  being  the  Central  and  not  the  Na- 
cional  where  we  had  come  in,  we  had  no  idea  where 
to  look.  There  was  no  one  about  who  could  speak 
English,  so  we  couldn't  ask  and  of  course  we  had  no 
tickets  to  show  for  enlightenment — and  nobody  was 
looking  for  enlightment  if  we  had.  With  the  small 
impedimenta  before  enumerated  we  could  not  rush 
hither  and  thither  and  dodge  the  gate  man  and  all 
that;  and  it  being  pitch  dark  we  could  only  see  the 
length  of  our  noses  into  the  yards — and  our  noses  are 
not  the  de  Bergerac  kind. 

Well,  it  was  decided  to  anchor  me  in  the  waiting 
room  to  the  three  suit-cases,  the  overcoat,  the  um- 
brella, the  basket  of  crockery,  the  water  jug,  the  talk- 
ing machine  and  the  big  megaphone,  the  nosegay  and 
my  handbag — why   didn't   I  bring  a   bird  cage   or  a 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  95 

baby? — and  I  was  left  to  ruminate  over  the  situation 
while  the  spouse,  the  only  useful  article  in  my  collec- 
tion, went  to  investigate. 

There  was  an  interminable  wait,  during  which  my 
neck  took  on  a  spiral  form  in  my  ceaseless  effort  to 
keep  my  eyes  on  the  chattels  and  the  thievish-looking 
people  all  at  once.  In  the  meantine  I  accosted  any- 
body and  everybody  who  looked  at  me,  hoping  some- 
body, by  chance,  would  understand — but  nobody  did. 
But  all  things  come  to  them  that  wait.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  think  I  would  take  the  big  horn  and  shout  for 
English-speaking  Help !  when  finally  the  spouse  re- 
turned in  the  wake  of  the  biggest,  blackest,  smilingest, 
most  adorable  porter  I  ever  saw,  who  talked  our 
blessed  English  and  knew  the  railroad  yards  from 
track  A  to  track  Z. 

With  the  aid  of  a  posse  of  Mexicans,  each  armed 
with  a  chattel,  we  finally  struck  our  car  like  an  ava- 
lanche, making  Frank  and  Oliver  wonder,  no  doubt, 
if  we  hadn't  left  something.  But  we  hadn't — except- 
ing a  little  something  for  that  angel  darkey. 

After  a  while  in  came  tumbling  the  others ;  and  such 
a  tale  of  woe  was  never  told  with  such  peals  of  laugh- 
ter. They  had  waited  and  waited  and  waited  for  the 
laundry  boy,  likewise  for  the  express  wagon.  Finally 
the  boy,  with  a  leisureliness  that  was  reminiscent  of 
bridal  processions  trying  not  to  get  ahead  of  the  march, 
brought  a  parcel  of  clothes.  Not  a  garment  had  the 
Ozarks  ever  worn  or  ever  would  wear.  So  back  he 
must  go  to  the  laundry.  This  time  there  must  be 
no  mistake — time  was  precious  and  so  were  clothes, 
for  Mrs.  Ozark's  wardrobe  is  limited,  as  we  have  ex- 
plained. So  she  must  go  along  to  identify  her  lingerie 
— and  Mrs.  Brigham  would  go  along  to  help. 


96  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

They  were  conducted  to  the  rear  of  the  building  and 
up  some  stairs  to  a  sort  of  roof  back-yard.  Here  a 
divinity  of  the  tubs,  a  lavendera  of  high  degree,  robed 
in  long  traiHng  breadths  of  crimson  plush,  received 
them  in  truly  Palacial  style.  Not  being  in  just  the 
mood  for  court  ceremonies,  they  demanded  and  pro- 
ceeded to  search  for  the  lost  garments,  and  they  fished 
first  in  this  tub  and  then  in  that  till  they  found  the 
shirtwaist  that  had  been  misplaced,  the  white  vest  and 
all  the  rest  nestling  closely  in  the  suds.  Poor  Mrs. 
Ozark — with  first  her  trunk  lost  and  then  to  have  the 
rest  of  her  clothes  in  soak! 

rt  would  wring  tears  from  a  mummy ;  but  not  from 
that  placid,  plush-upholstered  goddess  in  red.  She 
wouldn't  even  wring  the  clothes,  so  the  ladies  wrung 
them  out  and,  with  a  basketful  of  the  precious  linen 
twisted  up  in  soggy  rolls,  they  returned  to  the  office. 

Here  they  found  Mr.  Ozark  trying  to  swear  and  Mr. 
Brigham  trying  desperately  to  raise  cl  diablo  or  some- 
body who  would  deign  to  handle  the  trunks  that  were 
still  waiting  for  the  expressman.  Of  course,  none  of 
those  Palace  noblemen  could  so  demean  themselves — 
and  why  should  they  fret  about  a  loitering  express- 
man? 

When  the  wagon  did  at  last  arrive,  those  elegant 
personages  watched  their  guests  help  the  man  to  load 
the  trunks  and  were  staring  after  them  as  they  piled 
the  ladies  into  a  carriage  in  something  of  the  san-te 
hasty  manner  they  had  used  with  the  trunks,  jumped 
in  after  them  and  dashed  ofif. 

In  order  to  make  sure  that  the  expressman  did  not, 
upon  reflection,  decide  to  wait  till  manana  to  deliver 
the  trunks,  they  made  their  driver  follow  close  behind 
and  they  finally  all  pulled  up  at  the  station  in  time  and, 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  97 

after  seeing  the  baggage  put  aboard  the  train,  they  all 
came  falling  into  the  car  in  hysterical  exhaustion. 

We  left  The  City  at  eight' o'clock.  Mrs.  Newhall 
has  metamorphosed  the  400  into  a  laundry  dry-room. 
Unblushing  bifurcated  garments  and  various  ghost- 
like draperies  startle  our  eyes  and  clammy  cuffs  and 
collars  lurk  in  unexpected  corners. 

She  has  just  reported  her  umbrella  forgotten  and 
her  slippers  stolen !  Verily,  from  her  that  hath  not 
shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  she  hath ! 

En  route. 

February  20. 

"Brite  and  fare,"  as  the  Real  Boy  says  in  the  Real 
Diary. 

The  day's  sights  began  with  a  picture  of  Santa 
Maria — not  a  madonna,  but  a  poverty-stricken  little 
pueblo  in  the  state  of  Jalisco.  Nobody  was  up  to  take 
the  picture — "  'tis  pity,  'tis,"  said  I,  and  forthwith 
routed  my  sleeping  spouse  from  the  opposite  section, 
convinced  him  that  he  could  aim  a  "finder"  and  click  a 
trigger  if  he  could  shoot  ducks  and  loons  the  way  he 
tells  about  and  in  response  to  his  "Just  as  I  am?"  an- 
swered, "without  one  plea" — so  ofif  he- went.  Presently 
some  one,  not  the  Victor  this  time,  sang  out  "Who's 
dat  knockin'  at  ma  do'?  Who's  dat,  I  should  like  to 
know?"  and  who  indeed  but  a  blue  pyjama-clad  gen- 
tleman of  chest-fallen  mien  was  "a-knockin'  with  so 
much  vim"  for  some  one  to  come  and  let  him  in — 
for  he  was  too  flustrated  to  remember  that  private 
cars  have  door-bells  and  porters,  with  the  astonished 
eyes  of  Santa  Maria  staring  holes  in  the  blue  stripes. 

We  are  speeding  northward  at  a  good  lively  tempo — 


98  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

about  allegro,  as  indicated  b\'  the  metronome — as  T 
call  the  speedometer.  We  passed  through  Queretaro, 
famous  for  its  opals  and  its  history,  during  the  "wee 
short  hours  ayont  the  twal,"  also  Irapuato,  that  mouth- 
watering place  where  strawberries  ripen  every  day  in 
the  year. 

When  Brownidad  (we  call  it  the  other  way  round 
at  home)  was  in  Queretaro  in  '96  he  was  not  so  for- 
tunate as  to  have  any  nice  warm  pyjamas  along — they 
hadn't  been  occidentalized  as  yet.  And  I  remember  a 
startling  red  and  yellow  flannel  shirt  he  brought  home 
and  the  story  he  told  of  the  trouble  he  had  to  get  it. 
finally  obtaining  the  garment  by  pointing  out  the  words 
"woolen,"  "shirt"  and  "night"  in  a  Spanish-English 
phrase  book.  Even  at  that,  "night"  in  connection  with 
a  shirt  meant  nothing  to  the  Mexican  shop-keeper. 

My  recollections  of  Queretaro  also  include  a  box  of 
December  roses  sent  me  from  there  and  a  doleful-look- 
ing but  very  funny  letter  in  black-bordered  stationery 
(the  hotel  proprietress  being  in  mourning),  telling  of 
a  visit  to  the  place  where  Maximilian  was  shot.  Of 
cotirse  there  is  nothing  mirthful  about  that  incident, 
but  there  was  a  fun-loving  friend  along  on  that  visit 
and  a  chance  acquaitance  from  "Oshkosh"  who 
"couldn't  see  it,"  and  the  combination  was  decidedly 
humorous. 

At  Agua  Calientes,  where  the  train  stopped  for 
breakfast,  we  held  an  impromptu  auction  of  drawn- 
work,  opals  and  horse-hair  baskets  and  toy  sombreros 
from  the  back  platform,  the  bidders  occupying  the  plat- 
form. It  is  said  that  all  the  inhabitants  of  Calientes 
who  are  not  at  home  making  drawn-work  are  at  the 
station  selling  it  and  they  find  a  ready  and  a  steady 
market,    for   many   people,   like   ourselves,   wish   they 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  99 


had  more  by  the  time  they  are  started  north,  and  many 
who  are  posted  wait  to  buy  it  there  at  their  own  price. 

It  was  a  Hvely  twenty  minutes,  as  the  Mexicans 
crowded  close  along  the  railroad  holding  up  their  most 
tempting  pieces  for  a  hurried  examination.  A  picture 
of  it  would  look  like  a  clothes-line  full  of  linen,  with 
knuckles  for  clothes-pins  and  only  the  eager  eyes  of 
the  owners  visible  above  their  white  squares.  When 
the  conductor  called  "vaiuaiios!"  and  the  train  pulled 
out,  there  was  a  frantic  making  of  change,  the  buyers 
and  sellers  not  able  to  exchange  a  word  except  "yes" 
and  "no"  and  "dollars"  and  "cents." 

While  this  was  goinig  on  on  one  side  of  the  train, 
the  Mexican  passengers  were  acting  as  greedy  about 
breakfast  on  the  opposite  side.  There  were  tables 
spread  with  hot  dishes  and  something  was  steaming  in 
great  earthen  jugs  which  would  be  standing  in  state 
in  the  iialls  of  the  "400"  if  they  could  be  got  there, 
and  the  chili  con  came  and  frijoles  were  being  served 
directly  from  the  manufacturers  to  the  consumers.  We 
are  neither  hungry  enough  nor  courageous  enough  to 
taste  the  Mexican  dishes. 

Agua  Calientes  is,  as  its  name  indicates,  a  place  of 
hot  water.  The  guide-book  states  (wrongfully)  that 
the  open  baths  may  be  seen  from  the  station  and  that 
the  natives  may  be  seen  bathing  therein  in  broad  da}'- 
light,  "with  no  other  protection  than  the  blue  sky  of 
heaven  and  the  republic  of  Mexico."  The  book  also 
states  (truthfully,  corroborated  In-  Mr.  Brown)  that 
certain  baths  are  named  after  the  twelve  disciples  and 
that  over  the  door  of  each  bath  house  is  the  name  of  an 
apostle  and  his  temperature.  Mr.  B.,  of  course,  al- 
ways patronized  St.  Paul,  his  patron  saint. 

Although  perfectly  flat,  the  city  of  hot  water  has  an 


100 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


elevation  of  6,179  feet,  and  has  a  most  salubrious  cli- 
mate, which,  with  the  springs  and  other  attractions, 
makes  it  a  favorite  health  resort.  The  town  lies  back 
of  a  grove  of  trees  across  a  level  space  of  some  dis- 
tance. A  toy  street  car  drawn  by  one  small  mule  was 
waiting  for  whoever  came  on  the  train  to  take  the 
baths,  but  was  rewarded  b}-  only  one  or  two  passen- 
gers. 

Besides    drawn-work,    one    of    the    best    grades    of 


pottery  is  made  in  Calientes — and  the  worst  grade  of 
opals,  as  we  had  plenty  of  evidence.  Those  we  ladies 
bought  in  "The  City"  by  the  karat  instead  of  by  the 
quart  were  opals. 

From  Agua  Calientes  there  was  a  steady  up-grade 
all  the  forenoon,  through  a  good  agricultural  country, 
becoming  more  rocky  as  we  reached  the  mountains. 
The  train  wound  in  curve  after  curve  around  the 
rough    hillsides,    passing    almost    directly    over    many 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  101 

ore-reduction  works.  This  region  was  once  one  of 
the  greatest  mining  districts  in  the  world.  Tons  of 
the  precious  metal  have  come  from  the  treasure-vaults 
of  these  hills,  but  the  old  bonanza  mines  are  no  longer 
worked,  the  ore  being  down  to  too  much  water  to  be 
taken  out  by  mule  power,  and  the  scarcity  of  fuel 
makes  other  power  impracticable. 

Higher  and  higher  the  engine  climbed,  till  an  alti- 
tude of  a  mile  and  a  half  was  reached.  Then  a  broad 
panorama  spread  out  around  us — brown,  barren  hills, 
dotted  here  and  there  by  white  tombstone-like  rocks 
that  had  once  marked  the  boundaries  of  mining  claims. 

All  at  once  there  appeared  the  vision  of  the  Holy 
Land  which  we  had  been  promised  in  the  guide-book 
— two  cities  with  flat-topped  houses  and  Moorish 
domes  lay  away  off  in  the  valley  beyond  among  the 
brown  hills — how  like  they  were  to  pictures  of  Da- 
mascus or  Bagdad !  It  was  easy  to  imagine  ourselves 
traveling  the  way  to  Jericho  or  over  some  other  Bible 
road. 

These  two  oriental-looking  cities  were  Zacatecas  and 
Guadalupe.  After  a  little  they  disappeared  as  if  they 
had  been  only  a  vision  as  we  passed  into  some  dee]) 
cut.  Then  after  a  zigzag  flying  through  cuts  and 
around  sharp  curves  we  came  once  more  in  sight  of 
Zacatecas  and  presently  reached  the  station. 

The  scene  from  the  car  was  as  beautiful  as  it  was 
foreign — a  symphony  in  blue  and  brown.  The  city  lies 
encircled  in  the  red-brown  hills,  up  which  it  seems 
trying  to  climb,  and  the  buildings  are  all  one  color, 
a  soft  terra-cotta.  And,  as  if  painted  with  the  same 
brush,  a  bright  blue  streak  on  the  side  of  a  building, 
exactly  the  color  of  the  sky,  was  the  only  bit  of  other 


102 


TJie  Tom-  of  the  400. 


color  in  all  this  prevailing  tone  of  brown.  It  was  so 
harmonious  an  effect,  so  unusual  and  impressive,  it  will 
remain  a  lasting  mental  picture. 

We  stopped  long  enough  to  take  some  kodak  pic- 
tures, but  not  long  enough  to  overcome  the  feeling 
that  we  were  looking  at  stereopticon  views  of  eastern 
lands.  Just  in  time  for  my  first  snap,  stepping  into 
the  finder  as  I  sprung  the  shutter,  came  a  veritable  lit- 
tle Jerusalem  donkey,  pannier-laden  like  those  we  see 
in  Bible  illustrations. 


The  quaint  old  city  lies  under  the  shadow  of  a  pe- 
culiarly shaped  hill,  Ccrro  dc  la  Biifa,  popularly  sup- 
posed to  mean  the  "hill  of  the  bufifalo."  Bufa  is  a 
Biscayan  word  and  really  means  "pig's  bladder,"  and 
pertainly  the  hill  looks  much  more  like  a  bladder  than 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


103 


a  buffalo.  Just  discernible  in  the  distance  on  the  crest 
of  this  hill  was  a  cross,  which  caps  a  Httle  chapel  to 
which  for  two  hundred  years  suffering  pilgrims  have 
crawled  on  their  knees  over  a  rough,  steep  path 
hedged  with  bristling  thorns,  to  do  penance. 


Zacatccas  means  "phice  where  grows  the  grass." 
The  valley  in  which  it  lies  is  fertile  and  grass  grows — 
an  uncommon  thing  in  this  country.  The  city  is  as  old 
as  the  hills  around — races  have  come  and  gone,  pros- 
perity has  come  and  gone,  in  its  day.     Once  a  busy 


104  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

center  of  wealth,  it  is  only  a  deserted  town  in  our  day, 
full  of  relics  of  times  gone  by — for  the  industry  that 
gave  it  life  is  no  more. 

Four  miles  from  Zacatecas  is  Guadalupe,  the  sister 
city  in  the  vision,  not  visible  from  Zacatecas  but  con- 
nected with  it  by  a  "gravity"  railroad.  I  learn  from 
Mr.  Brown,  who  once  dropped  into  town  via  the  grav- 
ity, that  it  is  the  force  of  gravity  which  takes  the  car 
down  hill  that  gave  the  name  to  the  system.  A  serio- 
comic little  donkey  pulls  the  car  back  to  Zacatecas — he 
alone  sees  the  real  gravity  of  the  situation,  for  to  him 
it  is  decidedly  uphill  business. 

Without  meaning  to  present  my  modest  other  half 
in  the  character  of  the  human  encyclopedia  usually 
found  in  tales  of  travel,  I  am  going  to  leave  a  space 
here  to  insert  part  of  a  letter  I  have  at  home,  describ- 
ing his  arrival  in  this  city  ten  years  ago,  because  his 
experience  was  so  unlike  that  of  a  private-car  trip. 
He  was  traveling  with  a  friend  who  has  since  jour- 
neyed to  "the  undiscover'd  country  from  whose  bourn 
no  traveller  returns,"  and  Zacatecas  was  their  first 
stopping  place  in  Mexico.  Here  will  follow  Paul's 
epistle. 

["We  arrived  here  at  12  o'clock  Friday  night,  in  company 
with  two  traveling  salesmen  (a  Frenchman  and  a  Jew)  whose 
acquaintance  we  made  coming  down.  The  railroad  station 
is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  town,  but  we  saw  a 
mule-car  apparently  waiting  for  us,  so  we  climbed  in  and 
presently  four  IMexicans  climbed  in  after  us  and  the  car  started. 
The  Mexicans  gazed  at  us  as  steadily  as  we  did  at  them,  and 
if  they  are  travelers  away  from  home  (which  they  certainly 
are  not)  they  are  now  writing  to  their  wives  about  the 
Americanos  as  I  am  writing  to  you  about  them.  They  be- 
longed to  the  lower  class,  which  includes  11,800,000  of  the 
12,000,000  people  of  Mexico,  and  wore  as  few  articles  of 
clothing  as   I   should  think   the   law   would   allow — though   I 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  105 

am  not  making  a  study  of  the  laws  of  Mexico.  The  afore- 
said articles  considered  as  essential  were  trousers,  blanket 
and  sombrero.  In  this  not  altogether  delightful  company  we 
rode  to  the  town  and  through  streets  so  narrow  that  we 
could  almost  touch  the  houses  on  either  side  from  the  car 
windows.     I  saj^  'houses' — one-story  adobe  huts,  rather. 

■'Finally  the  car  stopped  and  we  fell  out  and  found  our- 
selves within  about  three  feet  of  a  two-story  wall  of  adobe, 
painted  white.  In  the  center  of  the  wall  was  a  great  double 
door  built  of  heavy  planks  like  a  barn-door  and  strongly 
braced.  The  Frenchman  (who  has  been  here  often)  picked 
up  a  cobblestone  from  the  paving  in  the  street,  and  with  this 
primitive  knocker  pounded  on  the  door.  After  he  had  almost 
battered  the  door  down,  it  opened  a  little  waj^  and  a  sleepy 
Mexican  stuck  his  head  out.  The  Mexican  and  the  French- 
man held  a  very  short  but  very  animated  conversation,  the 
head  disappeared,  the  door  closed,  we  heard  a  bolt  thrown 
into  place  on  the  inside  and  the  Frenchman  announced  to  us 
that  the  Central  had  no  rooms  vacant.  Thereupon  we  climbed 
back  into  the  car,  which  had  accommodatingly  been  waiting, 
and  we  rode  another  block,   then  climbed  off  again. 

"This  time  the  Mexicans  climbed  off  too  and  took  our 
baggage,  and  we  all  proceeded  by  wa_\-  of  a  narrow  street 
paved  with  cobblestones  and  lined  with  buildings  close  to 
the  street  line  and  lighted  by  the  moon,  up  a  steep  hill 
until  our  further  progress  was  stopped  by  a  structure  very 
similar  to  that  called  the  'Central  Hotel."  Here  the  French- 
man again  despoiled  the  street  of  a  cobblestone  and  made 
his  presence  known  by  the  pounding  process.  Again  a  heavy 
wooden  door  opened,  another  sleepy  Alexican  thrust  his 
head  out  and  he  and  the  Frenchman  conversed,  but  this  time 
the  door  was  opened  just  wide  enough  for  us  to  enter  single 
file,  and  the  party,  following  Messieur,  marched  into  the 
Zacatecano,  an  old  two-story  building,  originally  an  Augus- 
tinian  convent,  with  rooms  facing  an  open  court. 

''The  Frenchman  registered,  Mr.  Broat  and  I  were  as- 
signed to  'double-room-having-two-beds-No.-44,'  and  I  was 
handed  an  iron  key  about  a  foot  long.  Preceded  by  a  Mexi- 
can clad  in  shirt  and  trousers,  and  followed  by  the  afore- 
said Mexicans  who  had  accompanied  us  from  the  depot,  we 
climbed  the  stairs  to  the  gallery.  The  first  [Mexican  pointed 
to  room  44^1  opened  it  by  means  of  the  bar  of  pig  iron  and 


106  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

we  entered.  The  'double  room'  consisted  of  two  connecting 
vaults  with  whitewashed  walls  and  stone  floors,  the  stones 
all  worn  hollow,  many  of  them  loose.  In  the  corner  of  one 
cell  a  prison-like  window,  heavily  iron-barred,  overlooked  the 
tops  of  other  buildings.  Each  room  was  furnished  with  a 
single  iron  bedstead,  a  washstand,  some  reed-bottomed  chairs, 
an  iron  pitcher  and  bowl  and  a  copy  of  the  'regulations' 
printed  in  Spanish,  French  and  English. 

"The  Mexican,  who  had  come  up  with  us  from  the  office, 
lighted  two  candles,  placed  one  on  each  washstand  and  pro- 
ceeded to  make  up  the  beds  with  a  quantity  of  bedding  which 
he  had  brought  with  him.  When  he  had  finished  he  placed 
a  cake  of  soap  and  two  towels  on  each  washstand  and  with- 
drew. 

"All  this  time  we  were  too  much  interested  to  notice  the 
other  two  Mexicans,  who  were  still  standing  in  the  room 
holding  our  grips.  I  finally  asked  them  if  they  intended  to 
sleep  with  us.  Evidently  thinking  my  question  a  command, 
they  put  the  grips  on  the  floor  and  said  something  which 
Broat  said  meant  'twenty-five  cents.'  We  gave  them  each 
that  amount  in  Alexican  money,  they  said  something  includ- 
ing Sehor,  and  went  out.  We  then  locked  the  door,  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  beds  and  wondered  whether  we  were  in  a  safe, 
a  hotel,  or  in  jail."] 

North  of  Zacatecas  the  railroad  follows  a  trail 
through  gaps  in  the  Sierra  jNIadres  and  the  train 
went  flying  from  one  horseshoe  to  another  at  a 
furious  speed.  During  these  tortuous  windings  around 
the  hills  I  attempted  a  picture  of  the  forward  half  of 
the  train  from  the  rear  end,  but  I  am  afraid  the  speed 
was  too  great  for  a  success. 

Gaunt  chimneys  of  old  smelters  were  the  only  signs 
of  man  in  these  mountains.  Solemn  and  gloomy  they 
stand,  like  monuments  to  dead  industry,  bearing 
silent  witness  as  they  crumble  and  decay,  of  the  insta- 
bility of  man  and  his  works  in  contrast  to  the  stead- 
fastness of  "the  everlasting  hills." 

rt  was  very  hot  by  noon,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  day 
we  were  suffocated  in  dust  as   we  traveled   steadilv 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  107 

down  grade  across  a  flat  sandy  desert  covered  with 
sage  and  cactus — a  country  which  somebody  re- 
marked, "needed  only  water  and  good  society  to  make 
it  a  fit  place  for  a  human  being  to  live."  With  the  ex- 
ception of  our  little  Leading  Lady,  who  is  of  the  band- 
box order  of  creation,  we  are  as  brown  and  dirty  and 
as  careless  of  it  as  the  Mexicans,  having  utterly  aban- 
doned ourselves  to  our  fate. 

There  were  the  same  little  villages,  where  every- 
thing below  the  sky  was  of  one  color,  the  adobe  huts 
being  made  of  sun-dried  cakes  of  the  same  soil  on 
which  they  stand,  red  or  gray  as  the  location  hap- 
jiens  to  be.  The  train  seems  to  come  upon  these 
little  pueblos  quite  unawares — no  sign  of  life,  then 
all  at  once  the  swarm  of  beggars,  for  "the  poor  always 
ye  liave  with  you"  in  Mexico,  and  begging  is  the  lead- 
ing industry. 

Mrs.  Newhall  has  taken  up  the  vocation  which 
goes  with  the  dirt,  and  she  does  the  begging  herself 
whenever  we  stop.  She  holds  out  her  hand  appeal- 
ingly  and  murmurs  "ceiitavo,  ccntavo''  with  a  most 
touching  and  pathetic  voice,  to  the  utter  bewilderment 
of  these  people  of  the  desert.  Then  she  smiles  and 
they  "tumble."  There  is  always  a  chorus  of  "adois! 
adios':"  when  we  leave  the  excited  groups  counting 
up  their  gains. 

The  country  Ijecamc  more  and  more  sterile  with 
every  mile.  Someone  has  called  the  desert  "liic  land 
God  forgot" — I  should  say  "forsook" — for  nothing 
could  illustrate  the  word  "God-forsaken"  like  this  flat, 
endless  stretch  of  nothingness.  Fanny  gave  a  small 
urchin  a  potted  plant  today  on  which  was  a  faded 
blossom.  She  had  meant  to  throw  it  away,  but  thought 
one  of  these  desert  waifs  might  like  it — like  it !     We 


108 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


left  the  child  hugging  the  poor  little  flower,  a  waif  like 
herself,  as  if  it  had  dropped  from  Paradise.  She  was 
at  once  the  center  of  a  group  wondering,  admiring  and 
excited,  for  the  desert  had  suddenly  "blossomed  as  the 
rose." 


Each  little  settlement  seemed  if  possible  more  primi- 
tive. Instead  of  adobe  huts,  there  were  j'acals  built  of 
old  boards,  discarded  railroad  ties  or  anv  wreckage 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


109 


that  would  make  a  shanty,  set  upright  Hke  a  backyard 
fence — "palisade,"'  to  be  technical,  and  "chinked"  with 
adobe.  They  are  as  comfortable  and  homelike  as  a 
pigsty.     There  are  no  windows  in  Mexican  huts,  and 


seldom  a  chimney.     What  little  fire  is  used  is  made 
in  a  charcoal  pan  or  bakeoven. 

As   we   journeyed   further   into   the   wilderness   the 
people    showed    increasing    evidence    of    poverty    and 


no  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

greater  lack  of  water.  At  a  little  pueblo  called  Calero 
I  posed  a  group  of  them,  touching  their  shoulders  in 
so  doing.  "Unclean !  unclean !"  was  the  cry,  as  if 
they  were  lepers.  I  had  to  sterilize  my  hands  imme- 
diately. 

On  the  railroad  maps  cities  and  towns  appear  to  be 
thickly  scattered  along  this  route,  but  a  "city"  in 
larger  type  proves  to  be  only  the  usual  row  of  jacals 
with  a  corral  back  of  them  fenced  with  brush  or  a 
cemetery  thus  enclosed  as  a  protection  against  coy- 
otls.  Fresnillo  on  the  map  is  the  last  "city"  in  the 
Torrid  Zone,  coming  north.  But  Fresnillo  on  the 
railroad,  like  many  of  the  towns  named  on  the  time- 
tables, consists  entirely  of  the  section  house,  and  that 
is  so  small  that  it  reminds  you  of  the  joke  about  the 
man  who  came  to  the  freight  station  to  get  a  chicken- 
coop  and  went  off  with  the  station  in  his  wagon. 
Guterez,  another  large-type  city  on  the  map,  is  a  clus- 
ter instead  of  a  row  of  adobe  huts,  with  an  extra 
number  of  beggars,  indicating  a  larger  population. 

Not  only  do  iNIexican  towns  and  streets  have  re- 
ligious (or  sacrilegious)  appellations,  but  the  people 
seem  to  bear  names  that  must  have  made  Dowie,  as 
Elijah,  feel  very  much  at  home  among  them.  I  read 
"Jesus  y  ]Manuel  Fernandez"  above  the  door  of  the 
only  business  establishment  in  one  small  village  today, 
and  if  the  head  of  the  establishment  was  the  man  under 
the  sign  his  looks  belie  his  Christian  name. 

The  sky  has  been  glorious  today — fleecy  clouds  float- 
ing, the  blue  intense.  The  sun  plays  all  sorts  of  tricks 
with  our  eyes.  Mrs.  Brigham  called  us  to  look  out  at 
a  wonderful  mirage,  this  afternoon.  The  wide  stretch 
of  sand  was  like  sparkling  water,  and  in  the  remote 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  Ill 

distance  trees  fringing  the  shores  of  this  phantom 
lake  were  reflected  with  the  mountains  at  whose  feet 
it  lay.     It   was   only   a   marvelous   optical   illusion — 

— "as  the  magic  Fata  Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated 
and  vanished  before  them." 

We  finish  every  day  with  a  beautiful  sunset.  This 
particular  one  ended  with  a  vision  of  Heaven,  nothing 
less.  A  radiance  without  color,  except  the  gleam- 
ing silver  that  was  so  luminous  as  to  suggest  cherubim 
and  seraphim  and  the  glimmer  of  their  wings.  It 
was  like  a  glimpse  of  some  celestial  realm  through 
pearly  gates.  A  poet  could  not  describe  it — an  artist 
could  only  dream  it.  It  is  no  wonder  this  country 
is  called  The  Land  of  the  Sun — no  wonder  the  sun 
god  was  worshipped  of  old,  for  all  the  evidence  of 
any  world  beyond  this  barren  desert  above  which  the 
sun,  morning  and  evening,  works  wondrous  miracles 
to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  his  subjects,  is  revealed  in  these 
glimpses  of  "the  land  that  is  fairer  than  day"  which 
thus  we  can  see  afar. 


Mr.  Halloway,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Brigham's,  a  pas- 
senger on  the  train,  dined  with  us  tonight. 

Last  daylight  stop  Torreon,  "the  newest  town  in 
Mexico." 


State  of  Chihuahua. 

February  22. 

There  was  nothing  but  a  vast  expanse  of  sand  for 
our  purveyor  of  scenery  to  announce  to  their  majes- 
ties, the  "400,"  this  morning,  so  he  wound  up  the 
Victor  and  the  classic  strains  of  "Jasper,  Don't  Yon 


112  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Hear  Me  Calling,  Calling  You?"  started  a  chorus  of 
"Yes,  birdies"  from  behind  the  curtains.  We  had 
passed  through  a  hilly  section  of  country  during  the 
night,  so  the  party  had  been  somewhat  restless.  Some 
slept  the  sleep  of  the  just,  others  had  too  much  dust. 
If  it  is  true  that  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep,  then 
I  am  surely  of  the  blest. 

Jiminez — what  a  name  for  a  town.  Spanish  for 
jiminy?  No,  not  Jim  at  all,  but  Himinez,  you  must 
say.  He  was  one  of  Hidalgo's  compatriots.  And,  by 
the  way,  Hidalgo  means  "son  of  somebody  as  is  some- 
body," from  higo  de  algo. 

Next  came  Chihuahua,  just  after  breakfast.  Pro- 
nounced to  rhyme  with  bow-wow — since  here  is  bred 
the  only  bony  fido  Chihuahua  dog- — the  hairless  kind 
that  made  Chihuahua  famous.  With  his  nose  so  sharp 
and  his  toe  nails  long,  where,  oh  where  can  he  be? 
There  wasn't  a  bow-wow  in  sight — too  early,  prob- 
ably. 

However,  the  name  does  not  mean  "funny  little  dog" 
— it  means  the  "place  where  things  are  made,"  not 
born,  for  this  is  the  greatest  manufacturing  city  in 
Mexico. 

To  us  Chihuahua  means  "the  place  where  travelers 
shave,"  for  we  have  been  traveling  too  fast  lately  to 
trust  ourselves  with  razors,  especially  on  our  own  faces. 
"We"  is  masculine  in  this  sentence.  To  the  passengers 
not  of  the  400  Chihuahua  means  a  place  for  break- 
fast. The  city  is  999  miles  from  Mexico  City — 
arid  desert  almost  every  steppe  of  the  way.  From 
Chihuahua  to  the  Rio  Grande  there  are  200  miles 
of  what  the  books  call  "chaparral" — the  most  desolate 
country,  covered  sometimes  with  sagebrush,  some- 
times  with   the   stunted,   ugly  varieties   of  cacti,   and 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  113 

only  broken  with  an  occasional  ditch  that  looks  like 
a  crack  in  the  dry  soil.  We  crossed  one  of  these  on 
a  temporary  bridge,  where  a  big  iron  structnre  had 
been  destroyed  in  a  washout.  There  had  been  a  cloud- 
burst and  a  sudden  fall  of  water  does  great  damage 
to  bridges  that  are  "built  upon  the  sand."  When  the 
rain  descends  and  the  floods  come  and  beat  upon  that 
bridge,  it  falls — and  great  is  the  fall  of  it.  Stone  abut- 
ments were  turned  endwise  where  the  ground  caved 
in,  iron  beams  twisted  like  reeds. 

With  all  its  desolation,  there  is  to  me  an  ever-increas- 
ing charm  in  the  great  endless  desert.  /With  all  its 
monotony,  there  is  yet  a  continual  changing,  a  mingled 
beauty  and  wildness,  that  grows  always  more  fascinat- 
ing— the  wide  leagues  of  sand,  glistening  like  silver, 
the  mountains  that  rise  from  it,  purple  or  brown  as 
they  are  far  or  near,  the  distant  ranges  that  lay 
vaguely  against  the  horizon  in  soft  cloud-like  softness. 

"And  over  all   is  the   sky,  the  clear  and   crystalline  heaven. 
Like  the  protecting  hand  of  God  inverted  above  them." 

Today  we  are  having  all  these  changes.  Just  now 
I  am  looking  upon  great  stretches  of  sand-dunes,  where 
the  sparse  vegetation  is  half  buried  in  drifts  of  white 
sand  like  snow. 

In  some  places  cattle  are  browsing  on  "bufifalo 
grass,"  which  looks  like  poor  picking,  but  is  said  to 
be  very  nutritious.  It  grows  in  straggly  clumps  that 
sometimes  form  figures  or  letters  and  so  is  often 
called  "alphabet  grass."  T  wonder  if  the  animals 
make  imaginary  words  as  they  eat,  as  the  children  do 
with  alphabet  sotip. 

Wherever  there  is  stock  there  are  bones  bleach- 
ing in  the   sun.     And  wherever  there  are   pools  of 


114  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

water  along  the  railway  there  are  carcasses  (I  was 
about  to  write  it  "carci")  of  steers  recently  killed  by 
trains.  There  are  no  fences  along  the  right-of-way 
in  these  sections  and  the  cattle  cross  the  track  in  front 
of  trains  when  going  to  water.  We  run  slowly  through 
these  places.  When  there  are  likely  to  be  cattle  to 
pay  for  if  killed,  it  pays  to  be  careful. 

The  water  in  these  little  pools  looks  like  milk,  it  is 
so  saturated  with  alkali.  I  suppose  our  dumb  friends 
say  to  each  other  "Come  on  and  get  a  soda"  when 
they  visit  these  fountains. 

Between  the  bovine  watering-places  we  make  up 
for  lost  time  by  going  at  breakneck  speed.  It  has 
been  too  rough  for  music — the  needle  goes  jumping 
all  over  the  record,  making  the  most  unexpected  re- 
peats and  the  most  fearful  caterwaulings,  like  a  Chi- 
nese orchestra. 

For  lack  of  music  to  soothe  our  savage  breasts  we 
have  the  most  deadly  combats  in  "flinch."  Friendship 
ceases  and  there  is  no  flinching  about  getting  the  best 
of  each  other.  The  losers  are  made  to  wipe  ofl^  the 
table,  to  signify  that  their  antagonists  have  "wiped 
the  floor"  with  them,  for  somebody  has  to  dust  be- 
tween each  deal.  It  was  the  duster  for  mine  today, 
but  Thursday  always  was  my  unlucky  day. 

Whoever  is  not  engaged  in  this  absorbing  amuse- 
ment (what  a  word!)  is  reading  "The  Clansman." 
Every  member  of  the  family  is  "just  looking  it  over" 
unless  everybody  else  is  busy.  In  that  case,  with  con- 
science at  ease,  he  or  she  is  trying  to  finish  it  while 
nobodv  else  wants  it.  It  certainly  is  a  compliment  to 
Mr.  Dixon. 

With  these  exciting  diversions  we  manage  to  dis- 
pose of  "the  long,  tedious  days  crossing  the  desert." 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


115 


My  goodness,  each  one  is  so  full  of  interest  it  is  gone 
before  it  is  well  begun,  as  someone  remarked.  "My 
days  are  swifter  than  a  weaver's  shuttle,"  and  one 
feels  like  a  shuttle,  flving  across  the  world  so  fast. 


The  train  is  packed  with  Mexicans,  three  to  a  seat, 
in  first,  second  and  third-class  cars.  They  all  have 
oranges,  which  they  eat  without  ceasing.  Some  of 
them  have  lunches  along,  but  the  most  of  them  dined 
al  fresco,  there  being  tables  "spread  on  the  lawn,"  so 
to   speak,   at   Moctezuma,   to   which   the   nimble   and 


116  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

hungry  Mex.  made  a  running  procession,  Indian  file 
— "first  come  first  served"  being  the  watchword. 

Meanwhile  I  took  the  opportunity  to  photograph  at 
close  range  the  most  pretentious  of  the  little  "pigsty" 
jacals  of  which  the  city  of  Moctezuma  consists.  The 
people  were  all  assisting  at  the  law'n  fete  except  one 
white  pig,  which  I  snapped  before  he  escaped  into  the 
"sty." 

This  is  Washington's  birthday  and  w^e  celebrated 
with  a  chicken  pie  that  would  have  been  a  credit  to 
]\lt.  Vernon's  best  cook.  \\e  dined  in  the  afternoon, 
it  being  a  holiday,  under  a  canopy  of  red,  white  and 
blue  made  of  two  great  flags.  Now,  how  did  it  hap- 
pen tliat  there  were  flags  in  the  car? 

El  Paso. 

9  p.  m. 

We  reached  the  old  town  of  Paso  del  Norte,  now 
called  Ciudad  Jaurez,  at  about  seven  o'clock,  crossed 
the  Rio  Bravo  del  Norte,  now  called  Rio  Grande,  and 
came  into  Uncle  Sam's  dominion  at  El  Paso  wdth  our 
national  colors  displayed  in  most  patriotic  fashion. 
When  the  emigrant  officer  came  aboard  to  inspect  the 
ship  to  see  if  there  were  any  Chinese  concealed,  he  w^as 
so  impressed  with  the  flag  decoration  that  he  re- 
marked that  people  so  conspicuously  patriotic  were 
above  suspicion,  and  politely  withdrew.  Then  came 
the  health  officer  to  see  if  we  had  any  germs  concealed, 
and  he  was  so  impressed  with  Mrs.  Newhalleria  and 
Mrs.  Brownidad  that  he  remarked  that  people  so  con- 
spicuously healthy  were  above  suspicion,  and  he  po- 
litely withdrew.  Then  the  customs  ofificer  appeared,  to 
see  if  we  had  any  contrabrand  goods  concealed,  and 
he  was  so  impressed  with  the  open  display  of  Mrs. 


1  lie  Tour  of  the  400.  117 

Brigham's  brass  candlesticks  and  pans  that  he  re- 
marked that  people  so  conspicuously  brazen  were  above 
suspicion,  and  he  politely  withdrew.  Uncle  Sam  has 
men  of  rare  discrimination  on  the  border. 

However,  let  me  insert  a  word  of  advice  to  pros- 
pective travelers  in  Mexico  who  might  not  meet  with 
such  unsuspecting  suspectors.  Besides  your  wearing 
apparel  our  government  allows  souvenirs  to  the  extent 
of  one  hundred  dollars,  free.  (No  cigars  included.) 
If  you  should  wish  to  bring  home  more  than  that 
amount  in  gifts  for  friends  without  paying  duty,  they 
must  be  either  zarapes,  hoop  poles,  skeletons,  sauer 
kraut,  bologna  or  joss  sticks.  Since  good  zarapes  are 
expensive,  and  so  many  families  have  skeletons,  and 
hoop  poles  are  so  clumsy  to  carry,  and  sauer  kraut, 
though  fine,  is  so  easy  to  obtain  at  any  delicatessen, 
and  bologna  is  a  little  passe,  most  people  consider  joss 
sticks  as  almost  Hobson's  choice.  But  a  hundred  dol- 
lars will  buy  a  good  many  brass  kettles  and  earthen 
jugs — all  you'll  probably  want  to  carry. 

We  are  back  in  our  ain  countree  but  not  home- 
ward bound.  It  is  necessary  to  cross  the  border  to 
make  railroad  connections  for  our  last  Mexican  des- 
tination. Black  Mountain — that  wonderful  plum-pud- 
ding of  which  we  all  own  a  little  slice — in  the  extreme 
northwestern   corner  of   Mexico. 

This  evening  we  formed  an  agreeable  impression 
of  El  Paso  from  the  up-to-date  ice-creamery  we  dis- 
covered and  from  the  very  up-to-date  people  we 
watched  dancing  in  the  ballroom  of  a  prominent  hotel. 

The  men  are  out  transferring  baggage  to  another 
road  and  arranging  to  leave  some  of  it  here  in  storage 
till  our  return  on  the  way  home.  We  are  to  spend 
the  night  in  our  own  hostelry  in  the  yards.    We  have 


118  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

become  so  accustomed  to  the  rumble  of  trains  that 
it  disturbs  us  no  more  than  the  customary  snore  beside 
us  at  home — the  screeching  of  locomotives  is  as  un- 
heeded as  the  striking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  the 
clanging  of  bells  makes  no  more  impression  than  the 
morning  call-bell.  If  we  hear  it  we  just  think  "ye-es!" 
and  doze  off  again. 

Arizona. 

February  23. 

It  was  announced  last  night  that  only  the  early  birds 
could  catch  their  trunks  for  a  hurried  exchange  of 
plumage  before  leaving  the  said  trunks  at  El  Paso, 
and  with  the  usual  luck  of  the  early  worm  I  most 
wished  I  hadn't  been  so  smart  when  I  found  myself 
unexpectedly  detained  on  the  car  steps  and  three 
whole  breadths  of  that  ill-fated  black  taffeta  trailing 
in  my  wake.  The  greedy  "Mex."  who  purloined  the 
rubber  floor-covering  from  the  platform  neglected  to 
take  the  tacks. 

As  ye  rip  so  shall  ye  sew — but  with  my  character- 
istic cabbage-patch  philosophy  I  am  consoling  myself 
with  the  thought  that  in  this  land  of  animated  rag- 
bags  we  are  eminently  respectable  though  we  look  our 
darndest — so  I  have  darned  the  torn  skirt  once  more, 
and  who  cares  whether  the  hem  is  fagotted  on  or  prop- 
erly stitched. 

From  El  Paso  we  started  west  on  an  all-day  race 
with  the  sun  over  the  "Sunset  Route,"  flying  along 
with  the  indicator  on  the  speedometer  hesitating  be- 
tween sixty  and  seventy  all  day. 

We  are  like  the  woman  who  began  her  dinner  in 
the  State  of  Rhode  Island,  had  a  course  or  two  in  the 
State  of  Connecticut  and  finished  in  a  State  of  Indi- 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  119 

gestion — for  we  had  fruit  in  Texas  and  cereal  in  New 
Mexico  this  mornin"-.  We  recrossed  the  Rio  Grande 
during  the  change  of  courses,  but  not  into  Mexico. 
The  rio  at  that  point  is  not  the  renowned  dividing  Hne 
between  the  sister  repubhcs.  the  United  States  of 
America  and  los  Estados   Unidos  de  Mejico. 

It  happened  again  a  few  hours  later  that  we  began 
luncheon  in  New  Mexico  and  used  finger-bowls  in  ^^.ri- 
zona,  according  to  a  sign-post  to  that  effect  on  the 
boundary  line.  This  reads  like  the  account  of  a  wed- 
ding tour  I  once  read  in  which  the  happy  couple  were 
described  as  breakfasting  here,  lunching  there  and 
dining  yonder,  as  if  they  were  wholly  occupied  with 
meals — but  it  is  a  little  unusual  to  change  states  with 
one's  plates,  so  we  may  be  excused  this  time. 

For  the  first  time  on  the  trip  we  are  placed  in  the 
forward  part  of  the  train  today,  thereby  missing 
much  dust,  but  also  missing  our  little  "front  piazza." 
However,  there  is  little  to  see  in  this  lonely,  silent 
wilderness.  For  miles  and  miles  there  have  been  no 
human  habitations — no  sign  of  man  or  beast,  for  in 
all  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  vast  ocean  of  sand 
there  is  not  enough  water  to  make  a  mud  pie.  Such 
far-reaching  distance  we  have  not  seen  before,  for 
here  there  are  no  mountains.  It  is  like  a  great  ball- 
room floor,  so  hard  is  the  crust  of  sand. 

Deming,  New  Mexico,  one  of  the  few  cities  on  the 
"Sunset  Route,"  is  a  strange  looking  place — not  a 
tree  in  sight  for  what  seemed  like  a  million  miles. 
Instead,  the  houses  are  scattered  through  a  grove  of 
windmills,  of  the  lank,  unpicturesque  American  type. 
They  looked  liked  a  lot  of  electric  fans  whirling  to 
keep  the  town  cool.  And  they  surely  must  have  a  hot 
time  of  it  in  the  old  town  with  no  shade  but  that  of 


120  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

the  whispering  windmills — for  living  or  dying,  they 
must  take  their  ease  under  the  windmills,  not  under 
the  trees. 

"How  blest  is  he  who  crowns  in  shades  like  these 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease." 

How  blest  is  he  who  in  his  age  of  ease  in  these 
shady  bowers  can  recah  the  happy  hours  when  toil 
remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play  and  all  the  village  train, 
from  labor  free,  led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spread- 
ing windmills ! 

I  can't  help  thinking  of  the  mute,  inglorious  Mil- 
tons  and  Bryants  and  Longfellows  that  may  perchance 
be  born  in  Deming  to  die  unknown  and  unsung  for 
want  of  inspiration,  and  I  thank  my  lucky  star  for  let- 
ting me  be  born  in  the  land  of  the  tree.  How  a  poetic 
soul  would  shrivel  on  a  diet  of  sky  and  sand  and  wind- 
mills !  For  under  no  tall  ancestral  tree  in  this  pleas- 
ant land  are  poets  born;  mothers  aren't  rocking  the 
dreamland  tree,  for  there  are  no  trees  in  this  land  for- 
lorn. "Rock-a-bye  baby,  up  in  the  tree,  when  the 
bough  breaks  the  cradle  will  fall,"  and  "bending  twigs 
t'  incline  the  tree"  mean  in  Deming  just  nothing  at 
all.  In  the  shade  of  the  old  apple  tree  they  know  no 
pleasure  of  mossy  bed — neither  the  joy  of  a  hollow 
tree  with  liberty  and  a  crust  of  bread.  No  lover  be- 
neath von  crimson  tree  to  list'ning  maid  doth  breathe 
his  flame ;  not  even  under  the  bamboo  tree  sing  they 
"we  lak-a-both  the  same."  Beneath  the  oak.  that 
shadv  old  tree,  they  know  not  how  they'd  like  to 
spoon ;  no  owl  up  in  the  sycamore  tree  says,  "Woo 
Sue !"  as  he  hides  from  the  moon.  For  the  wedding 
day  no  orange  tree  am  a-bloomin'  on  de  sandy  shore ; 
no  man  sits  under  his  own  fig  tree,  no  bonnie  brier 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  121 

beside  his  door.  Nor  under  the  spreading"  chestnut 
tree  does  the  smith  begin  his  work  at  dawn ;  he  can 
not  come  to  the  sunset  tree  when  his  day  of  toil  is 
past  and  gone.  They  say  not  "O  woodman,  spare 
that  tree !"  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech ;  and 
"flourishing-  Hke  a  green  bay  tree"  is  a  meaningless 
figure  of  speech.  They  dream  not  under  the  green- 
wood tree ;  'neath  no  rugged  elm  or  yew  tree's  shade 
or  anv  other  kind  of  a  tree  can  they  even  be  "forever 
laid."' 

I  could  jingle  these  rhymes  all  day,  but  I  don't  want 
to  harp  on  the  subject.  So  I'll  hang  my  harp  on  a 
willow  tree,  for  they  that  brought  me  captive  to  this 
desolation  require  of  me  mirth — yea,  even  a  game  of 
flinch. 

The  evening  of  the  same  day. 

At  Benson  we  finished  the  race  with  the  sun,  Old 
Sol  still  having  an  hour  to  shine. 

Connection  was  made  at  Benson  with  the  Sonora 
Railroad  and  we  are  once  more  headed  south  for 
Mexico.  For  want  of  exercise  we  had  a  dance  after 
dinner — an  impromptu  sort  of  reel,  to  the  tune  of 
"Monnie  Musk,"  played  on  real  fiddles  in  the  "Straths- 
pey Medley." 

We  are  due  at  Nogales  at  nine,  where  Mrs.  Brig- 
ham  expects  to  find  another  Mrs.  B.  waiting,  to  go  on 
to  Magdalena  in  the  400 — the  wife  of  one  of  the  Black 
Mountain  "Jack  Horners." 

Cerro  Prieto. 
February  ^4. 

Nine  o'clock  came,  but  not  Nogales.  At  that  hour 
we  were  stalled  a  few  miles  north  of  there  with  a 
disabled    engine.      We    expected    every    moment    to 


122  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

move  on,  but  finally  we  ladies  retired,  leaving  the 
gentlemen  to  do  the  honors  in  case  Mrs.  B.  should 
be  still  waiting  at  Nogales. 

What  followed  I  repeat  from  what  I  gathered  of 
a  fragmentary  conversation  between  two  very  sleepy 
gentlemen  this  morning. 

The  engine  was  patched  up  sufficiently  to  haul  the 
train  into  Nogales,  where  it  could  be  laid  oft  for  fur- 
further  repairs.  When  we  arrived  there — about  mid- 
night— nobody  was  waiting  for  us,  not  even  the  train 
with  which  we  expected  to  connect. 

It  seems  that  there  is  a  law  in  Mexico  whereby 
a  railroad  company  is  fined  fifty  dollars  if  a  mail  train 
does  not  start  on  time,  and  this  conductor  being  ever 
mindful  what  it  cost  to  break  the  law,  had  departed 
according  to  schedule. 

When  passengers  coming  down  from  "the  States" 
are  willing  to  make  up  a  purse  to  pay  this  fine,  they 
wire  ahead  and  the  conductor  tarries.  But  of  this 
simple  method  of  adjusting  matters  nobody  happened 
to  have  been  informed. 

And  great  was  the  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth 
when  these  facts  became  known.  For,  besides  a  whole 
train  load  of  greater  or  lesser  disappointments,  there 
was  a  baseball  team  on  board  w^ith  a  lot  of  "fans," 
billed  to  play  an  important  game  to-day  at  Hermosillo, 
and  the  mishap  meant  a  twenty-four-hour  stopover, 
which  of  course  prevented  the  ball  game. 

Now  there  is  nothing  insurmountable  in  a  problem 
of  railroad  manipulation  to  Mr.  Brigham,  and  as  he 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  submit  quiescently  to  being 
tied  up  a  day  in  Nogales  with  that  alluring  mine  so 
near  and  yet  so  far,  he  determined  to  find  some  way  to 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  123 

get  to  Magdalena.  So,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Brown, 
he  started  out  to  see  what  he  could  do. 

The  first  individual  they  encountered  was  a  small 
boy  "about  so  high,"  who  ought  to  have  been  a-bed  at 
such  an  hour.  He  asked  them  in  English  where  they 
expected  to  stay?  Well,  certainly  not  in  Nogales  if 
there  was  an  engine  to  be  hired  to  go  to  Magdalena. 
With  the  air  of  a  man  of  affairs,  this  small  ways  and 
means  committee  announced  that  he  reckoned  he  could 
fix  them  up  some  way ;  and,  proceeding  to  take  the 
strangers  in  tow,  he  led  them  into  the  station  to  confer 
with  the  train  dispatcher. 

This  gentleman  was  not,  however,  of  the  obliging 
type.  There  was  no  extra  engine,  there  would  be  none 
along  before  morning,  and  the  one  just  in  could  not 
be  made  fit  for  the  trip  before  mariana.  Mr.  Brigham 
asked  where  he  could  reach  Mr.  Naugle,  the  general 
manager  of  the  road?  He  was  "up  in  the  States,"  a 
place  which  seemed  to  be  as  vague  to  him  as  up  in  a 
balloon. 

Well,  where  was  the  superintendent?  Here  the 
small  Bureau  of  Information  could  answer.  "He's 
just  left  for  Guaymas  on  that  train,  but  you  can  get 
him  by  wire  at  Agua  Zarca."  Whereupon,  he  dic- 
tated a  message  to  the  operator.  But  the  answer  came 
back  "gan  agin — Finnigin,"  or  words  to  that  effect. 

In  the  meantime  ]\Ir.  Brigham  had  assumed  a  pre- 
occupied expression,  which  gradually  changed  to  one  of 
anxiety,  and  ignoring  the  further  plans  of  the  boy  and 
the  remarks  of  Mr.  Brown,  he  began  writing  rapidly 
on  a  pad  he  picked  up  from  the  operator's  table.  "Any- 
thing the  matter  down  the  road  ?"  he  asked  the  opera- 
tor. "No."  "I  thought  there  was  a  wreck,  but  prob- 
ably   I    misunderstood — they  must  have  changed  the 


124  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

code  since  I  handled  the  key,"  said  Mr.  Brigham,  an- 
swering the  inquiring  look  of  the  operator  by  handing 
him  the  pad  on  which  he  had  been  taking  messages 
from  the  clicking  instruments.  During  the  next  few 
moments  he  was  busily  engaged  doing  some  telegraph- 
ing himself,  with  the  result  that  he  located  the  wreck 
south  of  Magdalena  (out  of  our  way)  and  eventually 
procured  orders  for  a  crew  to  be  made  up  in  Nogales 
and  an  engine  to  be  had  from  somewhere  to  haul  the 
400  to  Magdalena. 

The  Boy  read  the  order,  suggested  some  correc- 
tions, which  the  dispatcher  obediently  made,  and  then 
this  resourceful  little  Relief  Corps  skirmished  around 
and  routed  out  an  engineer,  fireman  and  whatever  else 
constitutes  a  "crew"  from  their  various  homes  in  the 
town. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  customs  inspector 
would  have  to  "o.  k."  the  car  before  it  could  cross  the 
line.  This  line,  by  the  way,  is  the  principal  street  in 
the  town. 

He  escorted  the  strangers  to  the  inspector's  quar- 
ters, where  Mr.  Inspector  was  found  asleep  on  the 
floor,  wrapped  in  his  blanket.  But  now  it  developed 
that  in  so  irregular  a  piece  of  business  as  this,  it  would 
be  necessary  to  have  a  permit  from  the  chief  inspector 
and,  after  taking  his  weary  charges  to  an  "open  all 
night"  place  where  they  could  fortify  the  inner  man. 
he  left  them  to  recuperate  while  he  fetched  the  oflicer. 

The  description  of  this  cafe  was  such  a  jumble  of 
unfamiliar  words  that  I  shall  not  try  to  repeat  it.  But 
I  gathered  that  the  place  was  a  rendezvous  for  a  variety 
of  Mexican  and  border  "types"  who  were  playing 
games  of  the  nature   of  which   our  men   were   quite 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  125 

ignorant.     They  had  coffee  and  sandwiches  by  way  of 
refreshment. 

Meanwhile,  the  Httle  Rehef  and  Aid  Society  found 
the  chief  inspector;  a  cursory  examination  of  our  ef- 
fects took  place  under  our  unconscious  (and  let  us 
hope  inaudible)  noses,  our  passport  was  signed  and  at 
last  we  reached  ]\Iagdalena  at  about  daybreak,  most  of 
us  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  way  we  got  there. 

Mr.  Brigham  says  that  Boy  ought  to  be  made  presi- 
dent of  that  road. 

We  awoke  in  Magdalena.  and  lo!  the  time  of  the 
singing  of  birds  was  come.  The  feathery  choirs  were 
practicing  their  Easter  carols  in  the  feathery  green 
trees.  And  such  a  treat  were  the  green  trees,  after 
that  treeless  yesterday!  They  were  greener  in  Mag- 
dalena than  they  had  been  even  further  south — the 
shimmery  green  of  spring.  No  wonder  they  call  this 
climate  "eternal  spring."  It  was  such  a  morning  as 
Browning  describes,  when  the  year's  at  the  spring, 
the  day's  at  morn,  morning's  at  seven,  the  lark's  on 
the  wing,  God's  in  his  heaven  and  all's  right  with  the 
world !  We  all  fell  in  love  at  once  and  forever  with 
green,  balmy,  bird-haunted  Magdalena. 

We  lost  no  time  in  getting  out  to  enjoy  it  all,  and 
found  first  of  all  a  pretty  stream  tumbling  and  frolick- 
ing under  the  trees.  This  little  stream  is  so  respect- 
fully regarded  in  Mexico  as  to  be  called  a  river,  the 
Rio  Magdalena.  And  it  is  so  respectfully  regarded  by 
our  practical  Americans  as  to  be  called  excellent  wa- 
ter power,  and  they  have  shown  their  respect  by  build- 
ing, as  a  temple  in  its  honor,  a  great  big  mill  to  man- 
ufacture electricity.  This  power,  in  its  turn,  will  be 
transmitted  across  the  mountains  to  operate  the  ma- 
chinery  in  the  Black   Mountain   mining  works. 


126  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

In  spite  of  their  having  been  up  all  night,  the  two 
busy  B.'s  were  all  business.  The  first  thing  was  to 
inspect  the  new  plant,  in  which  the  last  of  the  ma- 
chinery is  being  installed.  So  we  descended  in  a  body 
upon  the  works,  and  these  experts  began  their  inspec- 
tion. First  they  turned  on  some  current  and  pro- 
ceeded to  try  the  relative  phase  relation  of  the  alter- 
nating circuits  of  a  couple  of  the  lightning  machines,  to 
see  if  they  were  sure  to  run  synchronously,  noting  the 
quick  responsiveness  to  control  and  the  instant  drop  in 
the  compensator,  corresponding — as  it  should — to  the 
ohmic  drop  in  the  line.  Then  they  threw  on  the  rotary 
converters,  which  allow  the  possibility  of  throwing  the 
machines  in  multiple,  and  found  that  an  extra  shunt 
transformer  was  needed  to  properly  connect  the  bus 
bars  with  the  multiple  disc.  Noticing,  with  their  acute 
mechanical  sense,  that  one  of  the  volt  meters  skipped  a 
watt  every  little  while,  they  tried  the  effect  of  cutting 
out  the  potential  sneak  current.  They  looked  over  the 
tachometers  to  see  if  they  were  properly  'tached  to  the 
gearing  of  the  rotary  shafts,  commenting  favorably 
upon  the  improvement  which  the  nev\^  detachable  point 
with  the  inflexible  end  fitting  the  spindle  afforded  over 
the  old  method,  acting  as  it  does  as  a  safeguard ;  they 
readjusted  some  bushings  and  listened  carefully  to  the 
working  of  the  noiseless  anti-hum  buzzers ;  looked  into 
the  loricated  conduits  and  switched  on  the  solenoid- 
controlled  switches;  and  especially  remarked  the  mer- 
its of  the  670  h.  p.  turbo  generators.  They  tested  the 
three-point  motor-supports  (which  are  of  chromatic 
alembic  steel),  and  having  finally  ascertained  that  the 
starting  rheostats  were  in  order  and  properly  cali- 
brated (calling  each  other's  attention  to  the  way  the 
ammeter,  by  using  a  steel-point  suspension,  altogether 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  127 

does  away  with  torsion),  they  made  a  final  short  cir- 
cuit around  the  air-cooled  building  and  with  one  more 
suggestion  to  the  foreman  in  regard  to  the  best  man- 
ner of  connecting  up  the  200-ampere  fixed-terminal 
kicking  coils  (which  are  1,000  horse  power),  they 
complimented  him  upon  the  success  of  his  labors 
and  themselves  upon  having  had  the  perspicacity  to 
choose  the  jump-spark-ignition  principle  for  the  sys- 
tem, and  then  these  men  "of  infinite-resource-and-sa- 
gacity"  declared  themselves  well  pleased  with  their 
inspection  of  the  plant,  which  fulfills  their  wildest 
dreams. 

And  we  ladies  kept  a  tight  grip  on  the  gravity 
clutch ! 

In  all  seriousness  Mr.  Brigham  asked  me  if  I  didn't 
think  things  were  in  fine  shape.  I  frankly  admitted 
that  I  was  hardl}^  more  than  a  push-button  electrician, 
but  that  the  machinery  did  seem  to  be  functioning  ad- 
mirably.   Often  a  wise  answer  turneth  away  suspicion. 

Then  someone  announced  that  the  "rigs"  were  wait- 
ing to  take  us  to  the  mine,  the  visit  which  was  the 
principal  object  of  the  trip  to  ]\Iexico.  The  "rigs" 
were  a  ramshackle  stage-coach  hitched  to  five  very 
small  and  exceedingly  shaggy  burros  (to  put  the  cart 
first)  and  a  two-seated  democrat  wagon  with  a  team 
of  correspondingly  democratic  horses. 

We  three  ladies  and  Mr.  Newhall  chose  the  stage,  the 
two  Mr.  B.'s  voted  for  the  democrat  and  invited  the 
young  ladies  to  go  with  them ;  and  off  we  started. 

We  drove  first  to  the  post  office,  which  is  one  of  a 
row  of  little  abode  blocks  in  a  narrow,  typically  Mex- 
ican street.  The  city  of  Magdalena  numbers  four  thou- 
sand souls.  It  is  a  noted  Mecca  for  pilgrims  from 
both  republics  who  come  each  year  on  the  fourth  of 


128  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

October  to  pray  to  an  image  of  San  Francisco  which 
is  enshrined  in  the  parish  church.  They  travel  for  miles 
on  their  knees,  we  were  told,  so  very  sacred  is  the 
image.  There  is,  of  course,  a  story  about  it  of  some 
miracle,  but  I  know  it  not. 

We  ahghted  and  looked  into  the  church,  but  a  service 
was  in  progress  and  the  place  was  filled  to  the  very 
doorsills  with  kneeling  worshippers,  so  of  course  we 
gave  up  the  quest  of  the  holy  image.  The  church  is 
quaint  and  Spanish  and  old,  and  faces  a  pretty  park, 
where  February  roses  were  in  bloom  and  oranges  ripe. 

I  took  my  customary  snap,  reloaded  the  kodak  and 
we  reloaded  into  the  "rigs."'  Now  for  the  mine,  as 
Mr.  Brigham  said. 

In  spite  of  a  deal  of  bouncing,  which  was  like  the 
pitching  of  a  ship  in  a  high  sea,  our  spirits  were 
pitched  "way  up  in  G."  The  rickety  old  chaise 
creaked  and  groaned  and  seemed  on  the  verge  of  pros- 
tration ;  we  expected  it  would  collapse  like  the  deacon's 
famous  "masterpiece"  any  moment.  But  wasn't  it 
great  (bump!)  not  to  be  rushing  through  all  this 
(bump!  thump!)  on  a  train!  Conversation  was  in 
broken  English. 

We're  from  Glencoe,  therefore  accustomed  to  bumps  ; 
but  when  the  tonneau  of  your  machine  leaves  so  much 
to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  padding,  it's  different.  It 
would  be  better  if  we  had  more  ballast^so  Air.  Brig- 
ham  came  back  to  add  his  mite  to  our  load;  and  our 
cushioning. 

Coaching  is  always  a  delight,  but  to  be  near  to  the 
heart  of  nature  in  Mexico  is  a  novel  and  charming  ex- 
perience. The  country  was  covered  with  all  the  varie- 
ties of  cacti  we  have  seen  before  and  many  new  ones, 
some  of  them  in  blossom.    The  great  saquaros,  grow- 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


129 


ing  sometimes  sixty  feet  high,  are  most  singular. 
Some  of  them  look  like  gigantic  cucumbers  standing 
on  end.  Some  throw  out  branches  that  grow  up  like 
fingers,  making  the  tree  look  like  a  great  bonv  hand. 


others  are  multiplied  till  tliey   form  great  branching- 
candelabra. 

The  road  was  a  zigzag  trail,  for  there  are  no  fenced- 
ofif,  square-cornered  farms  to  pass  between.  We  forded 
many  little  streams,  more  or  less  navigable  to  stage- 


130 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


coaches.  Of  course  there  are  no  bridges  on  a  road  that 
is  here  today  and  there  tomorrow ;  for  the  roads  change 
with  the  rivers,  and  they  are  more  erratic  than  the  Mis- 
sissippi. A  dry  river  bed  which  is  apparently  forever 
abandoned  often  becomes  a  seething  rapids  all  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  for  in  the  wet  season  a  rain  storm 
following  a  drouth  causes  sudden  and  often  disastrous 
inundation  of  all  the  drv  channels. 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brigham  had  an  exciting  experience 
on  a  previous  visit  to  Sonora  during  the  rainy  summer 
season,  being  unexpectedly  overtaken  by  a  flood.  They 
showed  us  the  very  place,  but  assured  us  that  since 
the  dry  season  is  between  October  and  May  we  need 
feel  no  alarm. 

The  road  followed  the  dry  water-courses  for  much 
of  the  distance.     Sometimes,  as  if  the  water  had  been 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


131 


carelessly  turned  off  at  the  end  of  the  season,  a  little 
stream  would  be  left  trickling — it  would  run  along  be- 
side us,  chattering  over  the  stony  ways  and  babbling 
on  the  pebbles,  as  if  glad  of  our  company  and  eager 
to  show  us  the  road. 

Sometimes  we  would  interrupt  a  group  of  Indian 
women  washing  their  clothes  on  the  flat  stones  in  the 
water.     Occasionally  we  would  meet  sober  little  bur- 


ros trudging  along  the  road,  sometimes  one  or  two, 
sometimes  in  pack  trains,  pannier-laden  with  bundles 
of  faggots  cut  from  the  scraggly  brush  of  the  mesquite, 
which  we  would  call  rubbish  for  bonfires.  It  is  all  the 
wood  obtainable,  and  scarce  at  that,  as  the  tree  is  only 
a  low-Sfrowine  shrub. 


132  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Little  huts  were  here  and  there,  the  people  and  their 
donkeys  abiding  in  close  quarters — the  hut  and  the 
donkey  shed  often  shared  a  party  wall  in  a  fraternal 
spirit  that  said  to  the  passer-by,  "Behold,  how  good  and 
how  pleasant  it  is  for  brethren  to  dwell  together  in 
unity." 

At  first  it  seemed  awful,  the  way  Ferdinand  (our 
Yaqui  Indian  coachman)  kept  continually  lashing  with 
his  long  whip  at  the  heads  of  the  poor  little  burros. 
He  seemed  a  most  unrighteous  man  who  disregard- 
ethed  at  least  the  feelings  of  his  beasts.  But  it  grad- 
ually appeared  that  they  were  used  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  wicked  driver  and  instead  of  thinking 
them  cruel,  being  smitten  on  the  right  cheek  did  they 
turn  to  him  the  other  also.  Gradually  I  grew  to  forgive 
Ferdinand — they  n'crc  aggravating,  for  they  were  ex- 
ceedingly lazy.  They  would  poke  along,  poco  a  poco 
ritardando,  then  they  would  rest.  United  they  stood, 
divided  they  went,  pushing  each  other  and  pulling  or 
not  ad  libitum.  Occasionally  an  impulse  would  seize 
them  and  they  would  have  a  game  of  tag — then  they'd 
rest  again.  Finally  they  took  it  into  their  long-eared 
heads  to  hold  a  contest  to  see  which  could  go  slowest 
and  not  stop,  like  a  bicycle  "slow  race." 

Ferdinand  kept  up  a  steady  whip  lashing  and  an 
even  more  abusive  tongue  lashing,  but  to  no  avail. 
When  the  rawhide  descended  upon  their  calloused 
flanks  (raw  hide  also,  for  the  hair  was  all  worn  off 
from  overmuch  smiting)  they  seemed  to  like  being 
petted  and  only  shook  their  long  ears  playfully.  An 
extra  sharp  cut  they  considered  only  a  would-be-cruel 
jest — it  just  tickled  them.  "You're  a  wag"  they  would 
say,  with  their  tails.    The  most  unkindest  cut  of  all  only 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  133 

made  them  dance  in  glee,  for  this  playful  driver  hadn't 
hit  it  yet — meaning  the  sensitive  spot. 

If  Ferdinand  could  have  understood  me,  I  should 
have  told  him  about  the  English  cabby  who,  upon  being 
told  to  whip  up  his  lazy  horse,  replied :  "I've  'it  the 
hanimal  all  over  'is  body  except  'is  left  hear,  and  I'm 
savin'  that  for  the  last  'ill." 

As  the  'ills  grew  more  rocky  and  steep  the  hanimals 
grew  more  tired  and  sleepy.  The  more  the  road  in- 
clined up  the  more  the  burros  inclined  down  and  they 
meandered  along  in  their  wobbly,  irregular  way, 
wherever  their  vagrant  fancies  led. 

Finding  the  whip  so  utterly  ineffectual,  Ferdinand 
reached  under  the  seat  and  brought  forth  a  heavy  log- 
chain  he  had  been  reserving  for  this  last  'ill  and  began 
savagely  to  belabor  the  tough  little  animals.  Like  a 
mighty  Samson  (as  he  was)  he  smote  them  "hip  and 
thigh."  It  seemed  as  if  they  would  burst  with  such 
awful  smites — whack! — whack! — you  just  expected  to 
see  them  squash  out  of  their  skins  like  baked  potatoes ; 
but  pounding  them  numb  only  made  them  less  sensi- 
tive and  more  stubborn.  "You  may  break  me  but 
you  can't  bend  me,"  said  their  sturdy-looking  backs. 
"Well,  then,  take  that!"  yelled  Ferdinand,  (I  suppose) 
and  he  smote  them  "under  the  fifth  rib"  (under  the 
belt,  that  means — in  the  solar  plexus),  trying  to  find 
a  vulnerable  spot.  Then  they  did  seem  to  feel  hurt 
a  little,  and  looked  around  reproachfully  as  if  to  say, 
like  Balaam's  ass,  "What  have  I  done  unto  thee,  that 
thou  hast  smitten  me  these  three  times?"  Then  they 
would  jog  along,  as  absent-minded  as  before. 

The  hills  grew  steeper  and  steeper.  The  burros 
waxed  meaner  and  meaner.  When  into  the  narrow- 
ness of  their  understanding  it  did  finally  percolate  what 


134  The  Tour  of  the  400. 


Ferdinand  was  driving  at,  they  declared  a  strike. 

At  last,  when  the  mutinous  little  rebels  altogether 
refused  to  pull  and  went  straggling  up  the  cliff  or  down 
the  precipice  or  anywhere  else  than  straight  ahead, 
Ferdinand  burst  into  speech  of  a  yet  more  unrighteous 
sound  and,  to  the  consternation  of  at  least  one  of  the 
occupants  of  that  coach,  jumped  out,  handed  the  reins 
to  Mr.  Newhall  (who  shared  the  front  seat  with  him), 
and  proceeded  to  throw  rocks — not  stones,  but  great 
rocks — at  the  obstinate  little  creatures. 

Then  away  we  sailed,  Mr.  Newhall  at  the  helm, 
Ferdinand  at  the  wheel  heaving  rocks,  chunks  of  clay, 
torrents  of  language,  in  reckless  abandon — for  when 
their  donkeyships  did  decide  to  go  they  stampeded 
around  sharp  walls  of  rock,  dashing  along  narrow 
shelves  to  fly  over  the  jumping-off  place  into  the  bot- 
tomless  abyss   that   waited   below ! 

I  confess  I'm  a  bit  timid.  My  trembling  heart  first 
sunk  into  my  boots  and  then  jumped  into  my  throat, 
while  my  trembling  lips  faltered  "Oh,  Lord,  if  you  can't 
help  us  for  goodness'  sake  don't  help  those  wicked 
mules !" 

The  creaking  old  coach  gave  first  a  lunge  to  this  side 
and  then  a  lurch  to  that,  as  the  flying  wheels  bowled 
over  the  rocks.  I  could  just  feel  myself  being  dashed 
to  smithereens. 

"What  if  we  do  tip  over?  It  wouldn't  hurt  us  any," 
calmly  announced  Sister  Sereno  Newhall.  As  a  theory 
that  was  undoubtedly  interesting.  Wouldn't  hurt  us 
any  !  Well,  I  fancy  myself  going  bumpety-bump  down 
a  few  hundred  feet  of  jagged  rocks,  along  with  the 
debris  of  a  three-seated-canopy-top  stage-coach  at- 
tached by  a  league  or  so  of  galling  chains  to  the  highly 
animate  and  kicking  carcasses  of  five  little  brute  burros, 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


135 


in  company  with  five  other  people  all  frantically  clutch- 
ing the  ambient  air,  and  with  both  eyes  scratched  out 
in  bramble-bushes,  finding  myself  at  the  end  of  my 
downfall  impaled  on  a  Spanish  bayonet — and  not  hav- 
ing it  hurt  me  any !  Well,  perhaps  she  meant  I  would 
never  know  what  happened ! 

But,  even  so,  though  I  would  not  live  alway  thus 
fettered  by  sin,  still  e'en  the  rapture  of  departing  from 
this  world  of  woe  would  (I  admit)  be  mingled  with 
fears  if  the  journey  began  in  a  doivnivardly  direction. 
And  again,  though  these  things  are  matters  of  indi- 
vidual taste,  I  have  some  cherished  notions  about  my 
demise,  and  for  one  thing  my  couch  would  not,  from 
choice,  be  a  downy  bed  of  cactus  boughs.  Oh  death, 
how  sharp  would  be  thy  sting !  Give  me  instead  my 
own  delicious  bed,  with  heavenly  music,  hovering  an- 
gels, etc. — and  above  all  a  kindly  light  shining — the 
white  light  of  the  elevator  going  up. 

However,  this  is  irrelevant. 


When  we  had  coached  fifteen  miles,  we  stopped  for 
a  picnic  luncheon,  which  we  enjoyed  under  the  shade 
of  an  old  cypress  tree — a  mid-Avinter  "Maying,"  warrn 
as  summer. 


136  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

While  we  were  packing  up  the  dishes  another  con- 
signment of  fresh  burros  (as  if  the  others  were  not 
fresh  enough)  was  hitched  to  the  stage  and  we  drove 
off  in  a  fashion  that  would  have  made  John  Gilpin, 
Tarn  O'Shanter,  Paul  Revere  et  al.  feel  like  thirty 
cents — "Alex."  It  was  like  the  driving  of  Jehu  the 
son  of  Nimshi,  for  we  "driveth  furiously."  These 
burros  were  even  more  fiendish  than  their  hateful  little 
predecessors,  and  the  road  was  worse  than  ever. 
Heavens,  and  we  still  had  twenty-five  miles  of  it  be- 
fore us ! 

The  most  exciting  experience  of  this  exciting  trip 
was  the  meeting  in  close  quarters  of  long  wagon- 
trains  hauling  structural  iron  for  the  work  at  Black 
Mountain.  These  were  going  in  the  same  direction 
as  ourselves  (unless  they  were  stalled),  but  of  course 
too  slow,  so  we  were  obliged  to  pass.  Some  of  the 
iron  girders  required  a  double  set  of  wagon-trucks  at 
each  end,  and  there  were  from  ten  to  twenty  mules 
to  a  load.  If  one  can  comprehend  the  utter  chaos 
produced  by  the  indecision,  stupidity,  stubbornness, 
irresponsibility,  pure  cussedness  and  other  idiosyn- 
crasies of  twenty-five  mule  intellects  (  !),  each  a  law 
unto  itself  and  all  working  at  cross  purposes,  with 
each  and  every  individual  mule  changing  his  feeble 
mind  at  least  twice  a  minute,  perhaps  one  might  form 
some  faint  idea  of  the  relief  one  felt  when  the  en- 
counter was  successfully  maneuvered  and  a  few  yards 
of  straight  road  lay  ahead. 

Whenever  we  met  one  of  these  trains,  whether  a 
single  pair  of  mules  or  a  borax  outfit,  the  drivers  al- 
ways smote  each  other's  animals  as  they  passed,  quite 
as  a  matter  of  course,  on  general  principles.    And  the 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  137 

favor  was  always  appreciated  by  the  respective  drivers 
and  acknowledged  with  a  courteous  salutation. 

Once  we  met  the  "sister"  coach  of  this  rural  mail 
line,  returning  to  Magdalena  with  a  load  of  male  pas- 
sengers— "Mex."  It  was  in  a  lonely  spot.  Both 
coaches  stopped  and  Ferdinand  held  a  conversation 
with  the  other  driver  in  Spanish.  And  here  is  where 
r  was  brave  and  the  usually  serene  Mrs.  Newhall  had 
conniptions  and  imperturbable  Mrs.  Brigham  quaked. 
They  were  sure  it  was  a  hold-up.  They  had  heard  that 
the  bloodthirsty  Yaqui  Indians  dwelt  in  this  state  of 
Sonora — they  remembered  the  recent  outbreak.  Ferdi- 
nand was  a  full-blooded  Yaqui — it  was  an  ideal  spot 
for  an  ambuscade — the  desperados  all  had  guns  in 
sight  and  nobody  knew  what  concealed.  Thus  they 
reasoned.  "S'pose  they  do  shoot  us — 'why  kick  ye  at 
the  sacrifice  ?'  "  quoth  I,  quoting  Scripture  uncon- 
sciously. Now,  ciifrc  nous,  I  am  as  much  afraid  of 
wild  Indians  and  g.uns  as  of  other  things,  but  one 
bosom  could  hold  no  more  fear  than  mine  already  con- 
tained, hitched  to  those  impish  burros;  so  it  may  be 
that  my  bravery  w^as  somewhat  negative — but  so  may 
theirs  have  been  about  mules  ! 

When  we  stopped  to  change  mules  for  the  final  ten 
miles,  to  quote  Mr.  Newhall  (instead  of  Scripture,  for 
a  change),  "Mrs.  Brown  in  her  great  relaxing  act 
occupied  the  stage."  I  would  gladly  have  given  up 
my  stage  career  at  that  moment — and  when  I  saw  that 
last  installment  of  viciousness,  I  would  have  given,  or 
at  least  hypothecated,  my  kingdom-come  for  any  old 
Dobbin  of  a  horse !  This  time  the  mules  had  to  be 
corralled  while  you  waited  and  blindfolded  to  be  har- 
nessed— good  big  fellows  they  were  and  after  they  had 
been  fastened  to  the  coach  by  strong  chains  and  by 


138  The  Tour  of -the  400. 

dint  of  strong  muscles  and  stronger  language,  they  had 
to  be  held  by  the  muzzle,  still  blinded,  till  Ferdinand 
could  jump  into  his  seat. 

"Vamose !"  he  yelled,  and  let  out  the  whip.  "Vamose" 
means  "let  us  go."  Up  flew  the  heels  of  the  off  mule 
like  the  cow  jumping  over  the  moon!  It  was  all  over 
for  me — I  knew  "the  canon"  was  to  come  and  I  knew 
my  time  was  come,  too. 

Now,  I  ought  to  like  mules.  My  first  birthday  gift 
was  a  cute  little  baby  mule  that  happened  to  make  his 
mulish  advent  into  this  world  just  a  year  later  than  I 
made  mine.  (Our  characters  are  sometimes  thought 
to  resemble  each  other,  I  may  add  as  a  coincidence.) 
He  was  a  nice  little  mulie,  as  I  have  implied,  and  I 
named  him  "Winkie."  He  grew  up  to  be  a  useful  (if 
unintelligent)  member  of  muledom,  while  I — well,  "I 
haven't  created  any  wery  surprisin'  sensation  here  as 
yet." 

This  is  not  intended,  however,  to  be  a  biographical 
sketch  of  either  of  us — but  I  mentioned  Winkie  be- 
cause until  now  he  was  almost  the  only  mule  I  ever 
knew — with  four  legs.  But  my  kind  of  mules  are  evi- 
dently extinct.  The  present-day  type  is  of  a  less 
phlegmatic  and  more  mecurial  disposition.  This  last 
specimen  was  of  the  genus  "Maud"  and  all  that  was 
needed  in  the  tableau  as  we  left  that  last  relay  station 
was  the  signature  "F.  Opper"  in  the  lower  right-hand 
corner  to  make  a  comic  picture  for  a  Sunday  paper. 
You  could  fairly  see  the  scroll  saying  "Hee  Haw!" 
coming  out  of  her  mouth.  But  1  didn't  see  the  humor- 
someness  of  the  situation  at  that  moment. 

But  the  man  handling  this  particular  Maud  was  no 
Old  Si.     He  was  a  driver  to  whom  Ben-Hur  would 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  139 

modestly  have  handed  his  laurel  crown.  After  that 
first  hilarious  outburst  of  Mexican  independence  the 
obstreperous  Maud,  realizing  the  uselessness  of  re- 
bellion, subsided  and  proved  the  steadiest  traveler  we 
had  had,  and  we  settled  down  to  quite  a  respectable 
pace,  so  moderate  that  we  could,  between  jolts,  ad- 
mire the  scenery  as  we  passed  through  it. 

The  road  was  fringed  with  bushes  of  some  bright 
yellow  flowers,  as  profuse  and  brilliant  as  our  golden 
field  flowers  in  August.  Pink  verbenas  grew  wild, 
peach  trees  were  in  bloom,  and  the  great  saguaros  tow- 
ered up  like  grotesque  vegetable  totem  poles. 

The  much-dreaded  caiion  proved  a  delight,  for  the 
road  was  in  the  bottom  of  it  most  of  the  way  and  the 
great  walls  of  rock  made  a  grandly  beautiful  sight. 

As  we  approached  the  end  of  the  journey  the  road 
gradually  wound  up  on  the  overhanging"  shelves  of  the 
cafion  till  we  finally  emerged  from  it  into  the  center 
of  a  group  of  hills.  The  day  was  fading,  a  peaceful 
quiet  seemed  brooding  over  the  place.  Like  a  dusky 
naiad  in  the  twilight,  a  Mexican  woman  was  washing 
her  hair  in  a  little  pool  beside  the  way.  With  a  last 
hard  pull  uphill  we  entered  the  strange  little  village 
of  tents  and  miners"  cabins  and  drew  up  safe  and 
sound  at  the  door  of  the  rooming-house  on  Ccrro 
Prieto,  the  pretty  Spanish  name  that  means  "Black 
Mountain." 

The  little  adobe  house  is  used  by  the  men  of  the 
mining  company  while  they  are  in  Mexico.  It  was 
turned  over  to  the  "400''  and  we  made  ourselves  pre- 
sentable in  the  little  whitewashed  bedrooms,  neat  as 
a  convent,  and  supper  was  announced  by  the  time  we 
were  ready. 


140  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

This  was  served  in  the  "eating-house"  near  by,  on  a 
round  table,  the  center  of  which  was  elevated  and 
made  to  revolve.  On  this  most  practical  whirligig 
contrivance  were  placed  the  salt  and  pepper,  sugar  and 
cream,  and  all  the  other  couples  that  one  is  continually 
passing.  .V  more  time-saving,  labor-saving,  help-your- 
self  device  was  never  invented. 

"Hello!  tea?  coff?"  said  something  behind  me.  A 
funny  little  Chinaman,  trying  to  talk  Melican — as  im- 
possible a  feat  as  for  the  other  one  in  the  kitchen  to 
cook  Melican. 

It  hardly  need  be  said  that  every  one  of  the  party 
is  so  tired  that  we  are  retiring  early.  Mrs.  Newhall, 
Marion  and  I  have  a  room  together.  Mrs.  N.  still 
fears  Spanish  brigands  but  must  have  open  windows 
and  door,  so  we  have  built  a  stockade  of  furniture 
and  are  prepared  to  resist  a  siege. 

Fanny  feels  quite  ill.  She  has  not  regained  her 
strength  since  her  typhoid  fever  in  November  and  the 
sun  and  the  long  shaking  up  were  too  much  for  her. 

I  am  writing  by  electric  light,  the  current  of  which 
is  generated  in  Magdalena,  forty  miles  away.  It 
seems  very  much  out  of  place  in  an  adobe  cabin — an 
oil  lamp  of  Bible  times  would  seem  more  in  keeping. 

Cerro   Prieto. 

February  25. 

The  Cerro  Prieto  mining  camp  is  on  the  brow  of  a 
hill,  across  from  the  big  Black  ^Mountain.  The  room- 
ing-house stands  on  a  terrace  overlooking  the  entire 
mining  works.  There  is  the  new  unfinished  stamp- 
mill,  which  has  the  furniture  all  in,  waiting  for  the 


142  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

house  to  be  built  around  it ;  the  cyanide  plant  and  vari- 
ous mills  and  shops.  The  three  tunnels  at  different 
elevations  are  in  full  view,  each  with  its  "dump"  be- 
low. It  is  like  watching  a  kinetoscope  to  sit  out  on  the 
terrace  and  watch  the  people  at  work  and  the  steady 
stream  of  pack  animals  laden  with  the  crooked  sticks 
of  wood  lazily  following  the  crooked  path  up  the  hill 
to  the  crooked  wood-pile,  where  a  crooked  little  Mexi- 
can relieves  them  of  their  crooked  burden  and  starts 
them  on  their  crooked  way  again  for  another  crooked 
load.  The  wood  is  used  for  fuel  pending  the  electric 
power,  which  so  far  only  furnishes  light.  It  seems 
to  take  a  lot  of  fuel,  even  though  at  present  there  is 
practically  no  machinery  w^orking — which  accounts  for 
the  unwonted  stillness  in  a  mining  camp.  When  the 
stamps  are  pounding  night  and  day  it  is  said  the  noise 
reverberates  through  the  hills  for  miles. 

I  understand  the  Cerro  Prieto  company  boasts  of 
much  that  is  remarkable  in  this  mine,  but  to  me  the 
most  wonderful  part  of  it  is  that  anybody  had  the  cour- 
age to  attempt  what  has  been  accomplished  in  the 
building  of  the  "plant,"  since  every  ounce  of  building 
material  and  tons  and  tons  of  machinery  have  been 
brought  forty  miles  across  the  hills  by  mules  over 
these  dreadful  roads.  No  wonder  the  men  of  the  com- 
pany wTar  expressions  like  that  of  a  new  daddy  with 
his  first  boy! 

This  is  the  day  of  rest  for  us,  but  work  goes  on  in 
mining  camps  regardless  of  the  fourth  command- 
ment. We  have  some  rockers  out  on  the  terrace  and 
are  enjoying  the  shade  and  the  balmy  air,  drawing  in 
inspiration  with  every  breath.  I  have  been  so  inspired 
as  to  grow  poetical  and  as  my  mind  still  runs  on  the 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


143 


events  of  yesterday,  I  find  myself  composing  an  epic, 
in  a  style  similar  to  Tennyson's.  It  is  always  easy 
to  write  prose,  but  I  admit  that  when  it  comes  to  shap- 
ing ideas  into  poetry  I  have  to  use  a  pattern.  With 
apologies  to  the  ghost  of  the  laureate,  here  is  my 
poem : 

Half  a  league   up   the   cliff. 
Half  a  league  downward, 
Along  the  sharp  precipice 

Rode  the  Four  Hundred. 
"Forward,   the   Mule   Brigade ! 
"Vamose!"  the  Yaqui  said; 
Holding  their  very  breath 

Rode  the  Four  Hundred. 


"Forward,  the   Mule   Brigade!' 
Was  there  a  soul  dismaj^'d? 
The  reins  to  Ben*  he  threw — 

What  if  he  blunder'd  ! 
Theirs  not  to  make  a  crj-, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs   but   to   wait   and   die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Gazed    the    Four   Hundred. 


Canon  to  right  of  them, 
Caiion  to  left  of  them, 
(Cactus  in  each  of  them), 

Onward  they  thunder  d  ; 
vStormed  at  with  shout  and  yell 
Bolder  the  burros — well. 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Fearing  a  prickly   hell. 

Rode   the   Four   Hundred. 


*Familiar  address  is  a  poet's  license. 

(Ilka  poet  has  Iter  license- - 
Though  nane,  they  say,  hae  11) 


144  The  Tour  of  the  400. 


Lash'd  till  their  hides  were  bare, 
Lash'd  as   they   reared   in   air, 
Sobering  the  people  there, 
Charging  like  devils,  while 

All   of   us    wonder'd ; 
Plunged  along — holy  smoke, 
What  if  the   harness   broke  ! 
Donkey  and  burro 
Reel'd   from   the   goading   stroke, 

Shatter'd    and    sunder'd. 
Quickly  revived — but  not — 

Not  the  Four   Hundred. 

Whacking  to  right  of  them, 
Swearing  to  left  of  them, 
Stoning  behind  them, 

Ferdinand   thunder'd; 
Storm'd  at  with  rock  and  yell, 
Over  each  other  fell, 
Burro  and  mule  pellmell ; 
Thus  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death. 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them — 

Weary  Four  Hundred. 

When  can  that  mem'ry  fade? 
At   the    escape   we   made 
All   of  us   wonder'd. 
Fearful  the  charge   they  made. 
Perish  the   Mule  Brigade, 
Live  the  Four  Hundred ! 


The  only  trotible  with  this  is  that  the  gestures  would 
be  hard  to  make  in  a  realistic  declamation,  for  no  hu- 
man elocutionist,  however  acrobatic,  could  possible- 
imitate  those  burros  without  making-  an  awful  donkey 
of  himself. 

I  am  glad  dreams  go  by  contraries,  for  last  night  I 
dreamed  of  riding  on  the  tail  of  a  comet  dra\\n  by 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  145 

fiery-eyed  dragons,  the  devil  driving.  I  told  his  Sa- 
tanic majesty  that  I  considered  his  chariot  very  slow, 
whereupon  he  asked  me  to  suggest  something  faster. 
I  told  him  to  get  an  1850-model  Mexican  stage-coach 
of  five-mule  power  if  he  really  wanted  excitement. 
''Oh,"  he  said,  "I  already  possess  all  the  burros  in 
Mexico,  but  they  are  such  wicked  little  brutes  I'm 
afraid  of  them." 

Mr.  Newhall  was  the  first  of  the  "weary  400"  to 
get  out  this  morning.  He  climbed  to  the  very  tip- 
top of  Black  jMountain  before  breakfast.  Xobody  saw 
him,  but  we  all  believe  it — first  because  we  trust  his 
veracity,  second  because  we  know  his  early-to-rise  hab- 
its, and  third  because  he  brought  a  little  round  "devil's 
pincushion"  from  the  very  highest  heap  of  dirt,  and 
everybody  knows  that  to  find  cacti  in  Mexico  one  must 
climb  to  the  very  apex  of  a  mountain. 

Fanny  was  too  ill  to  leave  her  bed  this  morning — 
a  sore  throat  and  fever.  The  young  American  doctor 
was  called  to  see  her — a  Kentuckian  who  reminds  us 
of  Ralph  Connor's  men,  and  I  imagine  Dr.  Wooley  has 
the  field  for  his  work  here  that  Connor's  heroes  find 
"out  west." 

After  a  cup  of  "cof"  and  something  else  (nobody 
knows  what  except  the  Chinaman),  we  made  a  raid  on 
the  store  for  straw  hats ;  the  sun  is  so  blinding — fine 
for  photographs. 

I  took  the  camera  and  went  hunting  and  had  some 
mighty  good  sport.  There  were  brown-skinned  boys 
bathing  in  a  pool  down  in  the  ravine,  challenging  the 
camera  (literally,  in  Spanish).  There  were  the  hill- 
sides with  the  mining  works ;  the  ceaseless  procession 
of  pannier  donkeys ;  there  were  the  little  Mexican 
cabins  and,  best  of  all,  I  shot  a  cherub !    Yes,  like  Mr. 


146 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


Peter  in  "Cranford,"  who  shot  "a.  cherubim"  on  the 
highest  peak  of  the  Himalayas.  A  h'ttle  Isronze 
cupid — of  all  the  captives  of  my  bow  and  spear  he 
is  the  prize  trophy.     Like  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  he 


Mi^.- 

■HBb-m^> 

-'THBI   •■^"  S^ 

^"1 

*r-'  ■  ■ 

1 
i 
1 

"was  not  arrayed,"  as  the  anthem  declares.  The  little 
creature  tried  to  fly  when  he  saw  me  aiming  at  him, 
but  he  hadn't  even  his  wings  on ! 

Imagine  swimming  in  pools  and  posing  ''in  the  al- 
together" outdoors,  the  25th  of  February ! 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  147 

Writing  this  date  reminds  me  of  Mrs.  Newhall's 
remark  when  she  saw  the  February  magazines  on  the 
table  in  our  room.  With  that  benevolent  madonna 
look  of  hers,  she  said:  "It  must  be  very  dull  for  the 
men  down  here — they're  even  reading  old  magazines. 
We  must  send  down  the  latest  when  we  get  home." 
When  Mrs.  Ijrigham  reminded  her  that  the  February 
''Everybody's"  was  the  current  number,  she  thought 
she  was  crazy ! 

The  fatted  calf,  in  the  shape  of  a  little  woolly  lamb, 
was  slain  for  the  "400"  to  feast  upon.  Those  who  saw 
the  pretty  creature  gambolling  on  the  green  hillside 
this  morning  did  not  care  for  lamb  for  dinner.  I  had 
not  witnessed  the  sacrifice  and,  with  no  tender  recol- 
lections to  bother  me,  I  took  lamb.  And  now  my  recol- 
lections of  that  lamb  never  will  be  tender. 

It  is  the  custom  in  Mexico  to  kill  meat  as  it  is  need- 
ed, as  ice  is  scarce,  in  most  places  unknown.  They  have 
a  peculiar  method  of  selling  meat,  too.  The  flesh  is 
stripped  from  the  bones  and  sold  by  the  length  of  the 
pieces  instead  of  being  cut  and  sold  by  the  pound. 
Water  is  cooled  for  drinking  by  siphoning  into  porous 
jars,  through  which  it  filters,  cooling  in  the  process. 

I  have  to-day  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mr. 
Stuart,  the  president  of  the  Black  Mountain  company, 
who  has  hitherto  been  a  sort  of  will-o'-the-wisp.  Wc 
followed  him  through  the  Irish  lx)gs  last  summer,  till 
I  knew  his  signature  on  visitors'  registers  well  enough 
to  have  detected  a  forgery. 

We  paid  a  visit  to  the  mines  during  the  afternoon, 
under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Cox,  the  superintendent, 
lighting  ourselves  with  candles  a  thousand  feet  into 
the  mountain  in  a  straight  horizontal  tunnel.  At  that 
distance  the  speck  of  light  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel 


148  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

disappeared  and  it  seemed  uncanny  and  the  air  grew 
close,  so  we  ladies  retraced  our  steps  to  daylight. 

At  the  end  of  one  of  the  branching  tunnels  was  a 
little  shrine,  with  a  devotee  praying  before  a  wooden 
cross  which  they  tell  us  was  on  the  top  of  Cerro  Prieto 
when  the  present  owners  took  possession  of  the  prop- 
erty. It  was  decorated  with  paper  flowers,  and  a  can- 
dle is  always  kept  burning  before  it.  The  cross  is 
supposed  to  bless  the  mine  and  the  miners,  who  have  a 
devotional  service  before  it  once  a  year  on  the  holy 
day  for  their  particular  patron  Saint. 

Mr.  Cox  gave  us  a  lot  of  information  about  ores, 
the  principal  thing  I  remember  being  that  all  is  not 
gold  that  glisteneth.  But  these  men  of  ours  seem  quite 
in  their  "native  element"  talking  the  language  of 
mines  and  mining.  I  always  knew  that  husband  of 
mine  had  a  logical  mind,  but  he  is  developing  a  geo- 
logical and  lithological  and  mineralogical  and  mineral- 
ological  one,  as  he  concentrates  it  more  than  ever  on 
rocks.  As  for  Mr.  Brigham,  high  grades  of  ore 
knowledge  are  running  in  his  veins  in  quartz,  and  to 
judge  by  the  outcroppings  in  his  speech,  conglomerate 
formations  of  lore  are  stratified  in  the  cavities  of  his 
skull — it  must  be  a  great  lode  on  his  mind.  Although 
you'll  never  find  him  in  the  dumps,  even  Islr.  New- 
hall  talks  about  how  gneiss  it  will  be  when  some  of 
these  sedimentary  deposits  of  pay  dirt,  as  they  call 
the  filthy  lucre,  are  deposited  in  their  pockets,  ^^'e 
ladies  are  beginning  to  be  a  little  refractory — they 
talk  so  much  about  free  gold.  If  we  were  treated 
properly  and  had  a  few  more  stamps,  they  don't  know 
what  crushers  we'd  be ! 

The  long  row  of  stamps  in  the  new  mill  looked  as 
if  they  would  chew  up  as  much  of  the  mountain  as 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  149 

one  generation  of  Mexicans  could  feed  them.  Like 
the  mills  of  God,  these  great  molars  grind  slowly  but 
exceeding  small — I  forget  how  many  mesh.  The  cya- 
nide tanks  suggested  Mrs.  Luetgert,  and  w'e  left  them 
with  a  shudder. 

After  supper  we  all  went  down  to  the  store  to  see 
the  Mexicans  do  their  weekly  Sunday-night  shopping. 
The  store  itself  is  a  long,  low  building  of  adobe  blocks 
— a  capacious  cavern  inside,  filled  with  everything  ever 
seen  in  a  country  "general"  store — which  means  a  de- 
partment store  on  a  small  scale.  There  were  smells 
and  all — a  pungent  aroma  of  coffee,  herrings,  rubber, 
tobacco,  leather,  kerosene,  cheese,  molasses — thor- 
oughly American. 

Mr.  Cox  and  Mr.  Whipple  entertained  us  the  rest 
of  the  evening  while  we  surrounded  a  funny  little 
drum-stove  in  the  hall  that  runs  through  the  little 
adobe  lodge — for  evenings  are  chilly  in  Mexico — 
even  in  February. 

r  am  trying  not  to  think  about  getting  back  to  Mag- 
dalena.     Oh,  that  I  had  wings  like  other  angels ! 


Magdalena. 
February  26. 

(This  shows  we  did  get  back.) 
I  dreamed  I  was  Betsy  Trotzvood  and  w^oke  myself 
shouting,  "Janet ! — Donkeys!" 

Fanny  was  much  improved  and  able  to  undertake 
the  return  trip.  A  covered  carriage  was  substituted 
for  the  "democrat"  and  i\Ir.  and  Mrs.  Brigham  took  her 
in  it,  the  rest  going  in  the  stage.  We  started  from  Cerro 
Prieto  early,  without  any  very  pleasant  anticipations 
as  far  as  one  member  of  the  party  was  concerned. 


ISO'  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

But  if  my  faith  in  burros  was  small,  my  faith  in 
Ferdinand  had  increased,  having  heard  great  tales  of 
his  skill  as  a  driver.  He  is  known  as  "Negra"  by  the 
Mexicans — Spanish  for  negro,  from  his  swarthy  com- 
plexion and  black  Indian  hair. 

The  road  was  down  grade  instead  of  up,  so  there 
was  less  need  of  rock  throwing  and  profanity.  And 
having  been  over  the  road  there  was  less  dread  of  the 
jumping-off  places,  so  on  the  whole  the  drive  was 
really  delightful.  Some  persons  ascribe  my  peace 
of  mind  to  the  fact  that  a  certain  strong  right 
arm  was  always  ready  to  support  my  drooping  form 
in  the  "she-tottered-and-would-have-fallen"  crises — I 
shouldn't  wonder.     Anyway,  we  had  the  back  seat. 

While  the  first  change  of  mules  was  being  made  at 
the  corral  where  we  had  first  seen  Maud,  Mr.  New- 
hall  and  Mr.  Brown  and  I  tramped  on  ahead  to  a 
place  where  we  had  seen  the  largest  sagiiaros,  that  we 
might  take  some  pictures  without  having  to  stop  the 
impetuous  burros  in  case  they  should  happen  to  be 
feeling  frolicsome  when  passing  that  point.  The  two 
men  posed  as  yard-sticks  measuring  the  height  of  the 
trees,  and  by  the  time  we  had  filled  the  camera  with 
sagiiaros  and  our  clothes  with  "pear"  prickers  the 
stage  came  whirling  up  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Ever  seen 
Bufifalo  Bill's  Deadwood  stage  come  whizzing  in? — it 
was  like  that.  Guess  we  wouldn't  have  had  any 
saguaros  along  that  level  strip  of  road  if  we  hadn't 
walked.  Ferdinand  began  stopping  when  we  first 
hove  in  sight  in  the  distance. 

We  took  a  last  look  at  Cerro  Prieto  ten  miles  away 
through  a  gap  in  the  hills  and  were  beginning  to  think 
a  hucna  forfuna  was  putting  all  the  Avagon  trains  in 


The  Tour  of  the  400. 


151 


easy  places  to  meet  when  we  came  to  the  worst  adven- 
ture of  this  kind  we  had  had. 

The  road  was  along  a  narrow  shelf  around  a  square, 
rocky,  perpendicular  hillside,  turning  a  right  angle 
at  a  point  where  some  recent  repairs  on  the  road  had 


heaped  a  bank  of  soft  powdery  earth  on  the  outside 
edge.  Just  beyond  and  approaching  this  sharp  turn 
was  a  wagon-train  of  long  iron  beams,  with  about 
twenty  mules  struggHng  desperately  up  hill.  Of 
course  they  could  not  take  the  outer  side  on  that  un- 


152  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

certain  footing.  There  was  no  place  for  us  to  alight 
except  into  a  herd  of  mules,  so  with  our  hearts  in  our 
throats,  our  hair  on  end,  our  faith  pinned  on  Ferdi- 
nand, our  eyes  shut,  we  clutched  each  other  and  the 
canopy  supports  and  prepared  for  the  worst.  We  all 
gasped  as  we  balanced  on  two  wheels  for  an  instant 
on  the  ridge  of  that  mound  of  loose  dirt,  knowing 
one  misstep  on  the  part  of  one  of  those  five  erratic 
mules  meant  a  toboggan  slide  to  unknown  depths  of 
woe  and  cactus.  We  were  almost  too  limp  to  smile 
our  gratitude  to  Ferdinand  after  it  was  over. 

We  stopped  again  for  luncheon  on  the  old  camp 
ground — uneedas  and  cheese  and  cervesa  and  sardines 
and  various  other  kinds  of  package  food  from  the 
store  were  much  relished  after  the  Chinese  cuisine  of 
the  last  two  days. 

It  was  in  the  group  of  hills  surrounding  this  picnic 
place  of  ours  that  Geronimo  and  his  band  of  Apaches 
found  a  hiding  place  during  the  summer  of  '86,  when 
both  the  American  and  Mexican  troops  were  scouring 
the  country,  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  capture  them. 
The  Mexicans  engaged  the  hostile  redskins  in  a  com- 
bat near  this  spot  shortly  before  Geronimo  surren- 
dered to  General  Miles.  Indeed,  most  of  the  Indian 
raids  on  the  Mexicans  were  made  in  the  State  of  So- 
nora,  it  being  directly  south  of  Arizona,  the  center  of 
their  depredations  in  "the  states." 

With  the  most  sensible  consignment  of  beasts  of 
burden  yet  received,  we  made  the  last  and  easiest  third 
of  the  trip,  where  the  country  was  level  for  most  of  the 
distance  and  the  road  comparatively  smooth. 

There  was  but  one  memorably  bad  place  in  that 
part  of  the  road,  where  in  going  the  other  way  we 
had  been  obliged  to  take  a  leap  off  a  perfectly  per- 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  153 

pendicular  embankment  cut  by  a  river  during  high 
water.  He  had  somehow  managed  to  land  right-side- 
up  instead  of  turning  turtle,  as  so  many  machines 
would  have  done.  It  was  really  more  of  a  wonder 
how  we  were  to  scale  that  wall  going  back,  but  here 
again  this  particular  hill-climber  proved  itself  supe- 
rior for  this  kind  of  country  and  we  were  not  even 
spilled  out. 

Finally  we  came  in  sight  of  ^Slagdalena  and  after 
stopping  at  an  orange  grove  on  the  edge  of  town 
while  the  girls  picked  some  of  the  fruit  w^e  clattered 
through  town  as  gaily  as  we  started  out  and  landed 
at  last  at  the  car — this  old  familiar  car  that  is  so  con- 
spicuous everywhere  for  its  unusual  color.  It  was 
standing  alone  in  all  its  }-ellow  glory  on  the  tracks 
near  the  green  fairyland,  like  Cinderella's  coach. 
My,  didn't  it  "look  good  to  all  the  family!" — and 
Frank  and  Oliver  had  had  a  good  housecleaning  while 
we  were  gone. 

After  we  had  given  ourselves  a  good  scrub  we  took 
our  camp-stools  out  on  the  "verandah"  and  enjoyed 
the  balmy  air,  and  as  the  day  waned,  our  last  in  this 
Land  of  the  Sun,  we  felt  a  keen  delight  in  watching 
the  rosy  glow  fade  into  twilight  till  the  new  moon 
began  to  gleam  in  the  still-tinted  sky.  The  part  of 
Mexico  that  will  linger  most  steadfastly  in  my  mem- 
ory is  the  sky  and  its  beautiful  transformations. 

The  men  are  "up-town"  this  evening  calling  on  the 
leading  citizen  of  Magdalena — banker,  capitalist, 
millionaire  and  a  very  pleasant  gentleman  withal.  He 
came  down  to  the  car  this  morning. 

We  ladies  have  been  treating  the  rest  of  the  popu- 
lation to  a  concert — probably  the  first  good  music 
manv  of  them  ever  heard — certainlv  the  first  errand 


154  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

opera.  The  Mexicans  are  all  music-lovers  and  these 
were  very  appreciative.  One  woman  outstayed  all 
the  others  as  they  one  by  one  departed  for  home,  lis- 
tening to  Sembrich  and  Calve  and  Eames  as  if  spell- 
bound— it  seemed  a  revelation  to  her.  I  dare  say  she 
will  never  forget  the  visit  of  the  yellow  car  to  Magda- 
lena,  and  we  shall  not  forget  her  rapt  expression  as 
she  crouched  on  the  car  steps,  drinking  in  the  music — 
who  knows  what  a  soul  of  music  may  have  slumbered 
in  her  breast ! 

Tucson,  Arizona. 
February  27, 

After  we  ladies  retired  last  night,  before  our  hus- 
bands returned,  we  had  a  visitation,  perhaps  meant 
for  a  call  or  a  serenade,  from  some  tipsy  Mexicans 
who  had  been  over-imbibing  pulque  and  who  insisted 
upon  coming  in.  Finally  Oliver  managed  to  convey 
the  idea  that  it  was  time  to  go  by  saying,  "Adios, 
adios"  to  them.  He  was  quite  proud  of  his  Spanish 
when  he  saw  how  it  worked. 

We  were  once  more  across  the  border  when  we 
woke  this  morning.  A  north-bound  train  picked  us 
up  in  Magdalena  at  about  one  a.  m. 

Benson  was  reached  too  late  for  the  eastern  con- 
nection planned,  so  we  came  to  Tucson  rather  than 
spend  the  day  there,  for  here  the  men  could  do  some 
business  and  the   Newhalls  visit  old   friends. 

Mr.  Larsen,  an  agreeable  and  interesting  young 
man  seeking  climate  for  his  health,  took  luncheon  with 
us  to-day. 

We  reached  Tucson  at  12:30 — an  intensely  hot 
place.     Mrs.  Brigham  and  the  girls  and  I  read  and 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  155 

tried  to  keep  cool  in  the  car,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Xewhall  and  the  men  were  away.  At  four  the  two 
Mr.  B's  returned  with  a  carriage  and  we  took  a  drive 
around  the  city,  seeing  many  beautiful  homes,  all  in 
Spanish  architecture.  The  University  of  Arizona  has 
beautiful  grounds — a  cactus  park,  with  hundreds  of 
varieties  of  cacti  in  ornamental  groupings.  We  drove 
on  the  campus  of  an  Indian  school  just  as  the  boys 
were  sitting  down  to  supper — watched  them  say 
grace,  through  the  windows.  Please  excuse  ambiguity. 
This  evening  we  went  up  town  to  buy  Indian  bas- 
kets and  curios  at  the  attractive  stores  that  we  had 
noticed  while  driving,  but  everything  closes  at  six  in 
Tucson. 

El  Paso. 

February  28. 

Before  we  were  up  we  were  once  more  en  route. 
with  two  engines  to  pull  us  up  the  heavy  grades  till 
we  reached  Benson.  We  are  again  in  the  forward 
part  of  the  train,  for  this  train  has  an  observation  car 
of  its  own. 

The  country  is  rough  and  barren  of  anything  ex- 
cept alkali  and  Arizona  cactus.  This  variety  has  a 
withered  blossom  on  a  stalk  as  long  as  a  fish-pole.  I 
believe  it  is  one  of  the  many  members  of  the  Yucca 
family — all   of  whom   carry   daggers. 

The  day  has  been  pleasantly  spent,  but  with  no 
special  incidents  or  new  features  to  record.  After 
dinner  to-night  we  walked  through  eleven  sleepers  and 
sat  for  a  change  in  the  "observatory" — it  only  made 
us  realize  more  fully  what  a  different  journey  we 
should  have  had  without  our  homey  "private  400." 

Arrived  at  El  Paso  at  7 :30.     Here  we  found  our 


156  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

trunks  and  once  more  changed  our  apparel  for  a 
change  of  climate,  bringing  forth  the  winter  coats  and 
furs  for  the  winter  we  shall  find  up  north.  We  wait 
here  for  a  late  train  which  will  pick  us  up  before 
morning. 

En  route. 
March  1. 

March  it  certainly  is — came  in  like  a  lion,  too,  roar- 
ing a  fierce  cold  roar.  For  the  first  time  since  leav- 
ing Colorado  Springs  for  the  south  we  have  heat  in 
the  car. 

Our  day's  itinerary  includes  New  Mexico,  the  ex- 
treme northwestern  corner  of  Texas  and  the  pan- 
handle of  Oklahoma.  It  seems  as  if  we  had  been 
days  and  days  on  the  same  level  space  between  the 
same  blue-veiled  mountains.  How  we  shall  miss  their 
changing  tints  and  always  beautiful  suggestions. 
Sometimes  the  great  w'aste  rolls  away  into  long 
ranges  of  foot-hills  that  look  like  waves,  as  if  the 
desert  had  once  been  an  ocean  and  it  had  suddenly 
turned  into  sand  just  when  the  breakers  were  ready 
to  dash  into  spray.  Then  for  hours  it  will  lie  like 
a  placid  summer  sea,  reflecting  the  sunshine  of 
heaven  as  in  a  mirror.  To-day  it  is  a  stormy  sea  where 
winds  "their  revels  keep." 

It  seemed  a  sea  of  dangers  when  we  saw  another 
wreck  to-day — one  that  we  should  have  been  a  part  of 
had  we  made  the  expected  connection  yesterday  at 
Benson.  I'm  not  joking  any  more  about  the  guardian 
angel — this  is  twice  we  have  been  kept  from  the  path 
of  danger  by  some  destiny.  A  temporary  track  was 
built  around  the  mass  of  twisted  iron  and  splintered 
boards  for  us  to  pass — Pullmans,  diner,  mail  car,  bag- 
gage and  coaches  were  all  piled  up  together. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  157 

To-night  the  world  is  Hterally  a  howling  wilderness. 
It  is  almost  impossible  to  heat  the  car  and  we  are 
going  to  bed  trusting  in  Providence  and  a  young 
brakeman  who,  because  the  wind  blows  out  the  rear 
lights  faster  than  he  can  light  them,  is  to  sit  inside 
the  car  to  keep  watch  for  following  trains,  and  signal 
in  case  of  danger.  I  hope  he  keeps  awake.  Also  I 
hope  he  isn't  Irish,  for  he  might  prove  to  be  like  the 
Irishman  who  refused  a  job  on  the  railroad  because 
shure,  he  niver  could  trust  himsilf  to  wave  a  red  flag 
if  there  was  a  green  wan  handy ! 

Some  friends  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brigham  from  Du- 
luth,  passengers  on  the  train,  called  this  morning. 

March  2. 

The  first  place  to-day  was  McPherson,  Kansas.  I 
am  afraid  I  agree  with  the  man  who  said  Kansas 
was  a  good  state  to  travel  through— quick.  But  this 
is  not  the  season  to  see  Kansas — last  year's  corn 
shocks  in  wet  fields  are  not  picturesque,  neither  is  the 
Kansas,  or  rather  the  typical  American,  farm  house. 

A  dismal  gray  sky  after  all  our  bright  blue  sun- 
shiny heavens  is  perhaps  the  reason  we  are  not  en- 
thusiastic about  our  home  coming. 

Topeka  early  in  the  afternoon — then  Kansas  City 
at  3  130.  We  stayed  in  the  car.  I  looked  for  old  land- 
marks around  the  Union  Depot.  Many  a  time  have  I 
taken  the  cable  up  the  bluff — or  rather,  it  took  me. 

The  only  sad  event  in  our  journey  occurred  this 
afternoon.  Oliver  came  in  with  the  napkin  rings  on 
a  tray,  ceremoniously  offering  each  his  or  her  own. 
It  was  a  breaking-home-ties  episode  that  was  very 
affecting. 


158  The  Tour  of  the  400. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kriefgen  (the  Duluth  people)  dined 
with  us  and  spent  the  evening.  We  all  put  on  our 
company  clothes,  except  Mrs.  Newhall,  whose  com- 
pany clothes  are  traveling  by  another  road.  She  put 
on  her  company  manners  instead,  but  showed  irre- 
pressible symptoms  of  mischief  underneath.  Mr. 
Brownidad  seemed  to  feel  this  restlessness  more  than 
the  rest  of  us  (he  sits  next  to  her)  and  it  made  him 
uneasy  and  somewhat  preoccupied.  But  though  mo- 
mentarily expecting  something  to  upset  his  dignity 
he  managed  to  preserve  an  outward  calm.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Brigham  were  extremely  entertaining — the  rest 
of  us  endeavored  to  make  a  good  impression  and  the 
guests   were   very   interesting   and   agreeable. 

After  they  left  we  did  what  packing  we  could.  The 
train  is  making  the  most  sensational  speed  of  any  part 
of  the  trip.  The  rear  brakeman  reassures  us  by  say- 
ing that  the  engineer  is  a  freight-engine  driver  and 
as  the  train  is  an  "off-schedule"'  put  on  to  haul  some 
empty  cars  wanted  in  Chicago,  he  is  seeing  what  he 
can  do  with  a  plaything  like  a  passenger  train.  He 
also  remarks  that  the  engine  is  of  an  unpopular  top- 
heavy  style.  I  wonder  if  he  is  jus'  kiddin' — as  our 
kids  would  say. 

Glencoe. 

March  S. 
"Nothing  now  is  left 
But   a  majestic  memor}-.'' 

It  was  not  the  fault  of  the  cold,  damp,  gray  morn- 
ing that  we  felt  depressed  when  the  train  pulled  into 
the  Chicago  station  early  this  morning.  We  were 
waking  from  a  beautiful  dream  and  none  of  us  wanted 
it  dispelled. 


The  Tour  of  the  400.  159 

We  bade  good-bye  to  the  two  faithful  men  who 
added  so  much  to  our  comfort  and  pleasure  on  the 
long  journey,  and  to  the  dear  old  yellow  car  400. 

Then  the  ci  devant  "400"  disbanded,  the  men  going 
to  their  offices,  the  ladies  to  old  haunts  on  State  street. 

At  1 1  130  we  ladies  met  again  at  the  Northwestern 
station  and  shortly  afterward  found  Glencoe  where 
we  left  it  and  getting  along  as  well  as  could  be  ex- 
pected. 

There  is  nothing  more  to  record  except  a  few  words 
of  thanks  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brigham,  but  words  can 
not  express  my  deep  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  kind- 
ness and  thoughtfulness  shown  by  the  most  genial  of 
hosts  and  the  most  gracious  of  hostesses.  In  think- 
ing over  the  trip  I  appreciate  more  and  more  how 
quietly  everything  was  managed  for  our  comfort  and 
happiness  and  begin  to  realize  something  of  what 
it  meant  to  arrange  and  manage  a  journey  of  thou- 
sands of  miles  in  such  a  way  that  not  one  i:)lan  mis- 
carried, and  not  one  unpleasant  incident  occurred. 

As  we  recall  the  happy,  idle,  care-free  days  we  spenr 
together,  they  will  always  remain  a  delightful  remem- 
brance. And  when  we  think  of  that  wonderful  land 
so  unlike  our  own  to  which  we  journeyed,  we  shall 
see  visions  of  a  land  of  beauty,  of  romance  and  of  sun- 
shine. 

What  a  chain  of  memories  springs  up  at  the  men- 
tion jf  that  magic  number,  400! 

"Awake  but  one,  and  lo !   what  myriads  rise! 
Each   stamps  its   image   as  the   other  flies." 


Adios! 


L'ENVOI. 

"Mother,  that  would  be  punishment  for  159  naughty- 
marks  if  I  had  written  that  many  pages  in  school," 
said  our  small  son,  looking  over  my  shoulder  as  I 
finished  this  manuscript — "and  it  would  have  to  be 
written  swell." 

(If  the  lad  writes  all  his  "naughty-mark"  work 
"szuell;'  he'll  be  a  great  author  some  day — or  at  least 
an  expert  penman  ! ) 

My  friends,  I  admit  these  pages  are  not,  in  any 
sense,  "written  swell."  But  if  in  their  perusal  one 
among  you  should  find  a  tithe  of  the  pleasure  thq,t  has 
been  mine  in  the  writing,  "the  play  needs  no  excuse." 

So,  with  the  greatest  faith  in  your  charity,  I  send 
my  work  to  press  with  only  this  message : 

"Go,  little  booke,  God  send  thee  good  passage, 
And  specially  let  this  be  thy  prayere : 
Unto  them  all  that  thee  will  read  or  hear. 
Where  thou  art  wrong,  after  their  help  to  call. 
Thee  to  correct,  in  any  part  or  all." 


■PORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGF'  ES 


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